My Demonic Ghost: Banished Spirits (10 page)

Chapter Twelve:

My apartment was number 14 on the third level, just a tad past the middle of the hallway. When I opened the door I inhaled deep, long breaths of the city smell, a combination of smoke, Chinese food, and a faint whiff of gasoline. Well, okay, maybe the smell wasn’t a match to the Whitehaven’s fresh, woody aroma, but the sightseeing here had no equal. I dropped my bag in the kitchen and climbed over the top of the couch, leaning over to pull the curtain back from the window. The neon lights from the take away store hummed as I watched the tiny people pick at their food, some on dates, some with family, yet most of them were seated alone. There was no moon here, there was little sky, too, as the body of the buildings stood in front, allowing only small patches of dreary blackness to be exposed.
No stars either...
I pulled the curtains shut, a little disappointed and turned towards the house phone, unhooking the handle and dialling in the Mum’s mobile.

“Yes, hello?”

“Hi Mum…”

“Oh good, you made it safely,” Mum mumbled in the same exhaling breath as her yawn.

“Yeah, everything‘s fine and the place is exactly the same way as we left it,” I inspected the room once more and sighed, “but I’m really tired now so I’m just gonna go to bed.”

“Oh, that’s fine dear, but before you go,” Mum shouted as I held the ear piece firmer into my ear, “A young man had dropped by about two hours ago and was asking for you…” The silence burned as Mum waited.
A young man was asking for me?
My mind instantly shot to Gargoyle. He was back on the hunt for Lock and it must’ve been simple for him to gain the information he needed to track us down even without using his ability of mind control, Mum was a sucker for pretty boys.

“What... What did you tell him?” I struggled to keep my voice both calm and level to keep Mum from becoming suspicious. I was given freedom without so much as a blink, but it can be taken away just as fast, too.

“Oh, well, I just said you had to go back to home for a bit, just to check up on a friend.”

“Really? Was that all?”
That wasn’t enough information right? That isn’t going to expose us…

“Umm, yes I think so… How do you know him anyway, Rach? You’re making quite a lot of friends up here.”
Friends? Hardly!

I cleared my throat and laughed, “Oh well, they’re all really nice in Whitehaven…”

“Hmm...” Mum’s tone lowered, “Just be careful okay, that boy didn’t seem quite… right.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I don’t want to be rude or anything, but he wasn’t the liveliest bloke I’ve ever met. Nothing like that young boy you had over before.” I groaned out of embarrassment and I could hear her huffing out a small laugh. I was just glad Lock couldn’t hear.

“Well, sorry to disappoint you,” I joked back. W
as it Gargoyle who visited? She wouldn’t be bagging my taste in friends if it was…then who…
“Did you happen to catch a name or anything from him?”

There was a moment of pause before her answer, “Err, no not really. He had brownish hair, looked to be in his 20’s which, quite frankly young lady, is a bit too old of a crowd for you.”

“Wait…He didn’t have red hair?”

“Red hair? No…”
So it wasn’t Gargoyle!
I felt the tenseness in my shoulders slowly easing away.

“Thanks Mum!” Feeling soft pokes on my back, I turned towards Lock who was flicking elastic bands at me. I swatted them away and hissed at him as he poked his tongue out at my seriousness. Old lady, I bet that’s what he was thinking. “I’m going to bed now, night Mum.”

“Oh, okay Rach, good night. Call me later okay? Love you!”

“Yeah, okay. Love you too,” I felt my cheeks flushing as Lock aped an over exaggerated kissing face. I hung up the phone, turning back to him.

“Hey Lock, do you… umm, do you sleep?”

“Nah, don’t need to. You can rest and I’ll just hang out here.” He continued to flick elastic bands around the kitchen.

“Well, you can watch some TV then.”

I led him to the couch and clicked on the TV. He smiled weakly and watched as I went to my bedroom door, where I shot him a grin over my shoulder just at the same moment as he got tangled trying to get the hoodie off over his head.

“Good night Lock, I’ll see you in the morning,” I called before a muffled, ‘Kay’ hallooed back through the fabric.

              I climbed into bed and didn’t fight sleep as it consumed me before abruptly spitting me back out at the first touch of daylight. I was caught off guard when I walked into the kitchen; nearly trotting on top of all Mum’s novels which were scattered across the floor. If I hadn’t known any better I would’ve thought a printer exploded.

“Finally, you’re up!” Lock’s voice rang like bells as he appeared around the corner from the kitchen.

“Lock, what’s all this?” I motioned to the mess.

“I’ve been researching.”

“Researching… for the Staff?”
And using Mum’s romantic novels too?

“Yeah! Where would hunters hide a holy weapon? In a holy place. We’re going check out some churches…its perfect!” He cheered, letting the sheets he held slip through his fingers and fluttering to the floor, “Can’t believe I didn’t think of this sooner.”

“Guess it’s worth a try.”

We were lucky that there wasn’t much sun out today for the clouds were now uniting together and filling their bellies with the promise of rain. We jumped onto the tram and started crawling up north. There were a few churches located on the outskirts and in the heart of the city. Maybe Lock was right; if the spirits of Heaven were to hide something precious, why not put it in a church? That’s assuming that the Staff is even an earthy object or actually exists at all. But I had made a promise to Betrayal… I wouldn’t let Lock give up hope. The walk took us about twenty minutes from the tram stop, a whole twenty minutes of which Lock and I didn’t whisper a single word to each other. I would turn to talk to him but his eyes were always distracted, darting into the sky, the tree tops, and the buildings before then resting on his feet.

“Hey! We’re here…” The Church looked out of place, nestled between a busy intersection and a Chucky Cheese restaurant. The fences surrounding the property were thin black arrow-headed bars, criss-crossed to stop intruders from breaking in after hours and appeared a little daunting, looking like a cage. 

Inside was just like any other church, the roof was high and arched to a point in the centre and rows of wooden seats faced a long table with a white linen sheet tossed over the top. A single candle sat unlit and half dried up, the puddle of its own waxy body at the base of the candle bowl. Above my head were pairs of colourful stained glassed windows, carefully printed with the faces of saints. An old priest greeted us with a small bow of his head, his face was warm yet his smile was not, matching the same bleak colour as his black suit. I smiled back, however, Lock did nothing but glare down at his feet, biting his tongue as I watched the muscles of his jaw clench and flex under the strain.

“Hello, can I be of any help?”

“Sorry to intrude, we’re just having a quick look…” I quickly explained. The priest turned his attention to Lock and instantly tightened his shoulders.

“Yes well, if you need anything please don’t hesitate to ask,” his tone lowered suspiciously.

I gulped and could feel the tension in the air slide down my throat and soak into my lungs.
Did the Priest perhaps know what Lock was?
Regardless, the Priest turned his back on us and returned to the tables.

The halls were quiet except for the active bustle of the city behind the fences and the birds sitting on the sills, grooming beneath their wings and into the buff pillows of their chest. It was easy to hear Lock hawk deeply from his throat and spit onto the ground, so I quickly knocked into his shoulder warningly. With an uncaring shrug, he looked away and continued to walk forward, spitting again.

“Hey, cut it out. Do you want us to get kicked out?”

“Maybe this was a bad idea after all,” he whispered back, inspecting the stares bearing down on him from the glass pictures with a combination of fear and urgency. The Priest lingered for a few moments, watching us out of the corner of his eye; most of his attention on Lock who didn’t help the situation by snarling when I held the Bible open. He was soon pulled away by a distant phone call, and taking our chance, we immediately started opening and closing cabinets in a frenzied rush.

“This is insane; we don’t even know what we’re looking for!” I threw my hands up in surrender after fifteen minutes of unsuccessful searching. Lock kicked over a stand, inspecting the bottom of a cupboard, pulling out a sheaf of papers, as he too growled in annoyance before standing back up.

“But where else...” His hands trembled by his side as I watched his back shake and quiver. I approached him and placed a hand on his shoulder. I could sense the frustration bottling up inside him. He didn’t turn to me or shrug my hand off, so I wrapped my other hand up, cradling him in a soft embrace. His cold body shivered underneath me before he went rigid. The smell of him overpowered the lingering scent of burning wax.

“I’m sorry…” my voice whispered, barely above audible as I stood there; Lock now my prisoner, trapped in the cave of my arms and chest. His breath quickened and the tension against my arms tightened with his every inhalation. I loosened my grip quickly, thinkin
g am I holding him too tightly?
But his breathing didn’t alter once my hug weakened. He kept breathing harder, faster, hyperventilating under my hold.
Lock…what can I do to help you?
I buried my head into his shoulder. “We’ll keep looking for it; it just might not be in this one particular church.” Even as I said the words I felt the hopelessness leak through my lips, trickling down and flooding the entire room with its tense, static vibe. A strong pull yanked me out of my thoughts as Lock walked forward.

              “Lock?” I called but he continued to walk, slapping papers into the air with a furious swipe. I had made things worse; I should’ve realised that he didn’t like human contact and I was obviously no exception.

Having the sudden urge to escape, I quickly walked outside through the back door and into the moving air, inhaling long and steady breaths of the wet, damp grass. Through the back door was a heavily packed yard filled with concrete headstones stamped into the dirt. Some were fresh grey plates sitting erect while others slanted sideways. This wasn’t the only church with a cemetery tucked away at its rear but it was definitely the biggest. This place was untouched by mankind’s technology, the entire face of the garden stuffed with plants, wilting flowers and dead stone.

Nature burgeoned with perfect abandon; plants were growing with unlimited capacity, awkwardly around the tombstones and through the picketed fences of their cages. I skimmed my eyes across the yard; the tombstones looked like a crowd of silent, grey bald heads. There was no one else was here except me and an older lady who stood over a grave with her head bowed.

My feet moved on their own accord as I made my way through the graveyard. Dad’s face jumped to mind and I paused, as if rooted to the ground. If sadness could have a taste I imagine it would’ve tasted like steel; strong, bitter and lingering on your tongue so long after removal that no matter how many times you try to spit it back out it would still be there. And I was swallowing mouthfuls of thick, cold metal, gulp after gulp.

As a loud heaving sob broke into the air, I glanced up to see a man who standing close to me. What surprised me most was that I hadn’t seen him at all, considering how close he was. He was an older man, probably in his early 40’s, hunched over the curved top of a stone and tucking his head into the fold of his elbows. His back shook with each cry disgorged, shaking more violently and in increasing velocity. I was startled, but quickly remembered where I was and could taste the steel flavour pouring into my throat.

“Sir, do you need any help?” I asked taking two steps forward with a hand outstretched. I yearned to give a comforting pat on his back, until my fingers fell from his foggy body through the cold still air.

I contracted my hand immediately, my entire world stopping and falling silent, the only vision or sound coming from the cracking sobs that twisted into sadistic laughing. He didn’t turn to look at me but slowly straightened his back from hunching over the gravestone. 

“What are you doing out in the daylight?” My words fell over themselves in my panic, clutching my hand to my body as if it had been bitten by a venomous snake. He continued to cackle, louder and harder until his head rocked back and he howled into the skies.

“Haven’t you heard?” His voice was rough, “Upstairs ain’t watching us no more!”

His footsteps were silent; turning inch by inch until he fully faced me, the ash-masked demon wearing a grin of self-satisfaction. He was tall with muscular arms. Two bullet holes ripped his suit with bloodstains marking the white shirt underneath. He was clean shaven, his hair slicked back and so suave that he looked like the perfect business man, just missing his briefcase.  Except for his eyes. His eyes were different; each Banished soul had a colour just for them. They were yellow; a harsh, vibrant, blinding yellow, gleaming into my face like high beams. The very blood pumping into my veins slowed and my heart came close to a stop, every nerve dying underneath his stare, wonderful…controlling…demonic.