Poison City (32 page)

I turn away, pull my gun out. Have to get to this Dr Feelgood before the fire spreads.

I open the door.

There’s a man dragging one of the glamoured staff along the passage outside, pulling her by her legs. I hit him on the head with the Glock. He drops to the floor, howling in pain.

I stare at the person he was dragging. She’s already dead. A huge wound opens up her abdomen from chest to stomach.

I drag my eyes away, feeling the bile rise in my throat. I stumble along the passage and into a large sitting room. I stagger, stop walking.

The first thing I notice are the white plastic sheets laid over the furniture.

The second thing is the blood. It’s everywhere. Spattering the plastic, pooling in little hollows and trenches formed by creases in the material. Body parts litter the couches. Arms, legs. Two torsos sitting next to each other. No guests. The victims have just been left here, abandoned.

I move into the next room, trying to escape.

But there
is
no escape. No place to hide.

It’s like I’m walking through a biblical apocalypse. I try to ignore it.
Keep
walking,
I tell myself.
Think
about the bigger picture
. Walking around the blood, the bodies. Feeling my humanity stripping away with every step, with every ignored cry of pain.

Just keep moving, I tell myself. Get to the head sin-eater. Find the man who killed Cally. That’s all that matters. That’s why you’re here.

Then I hear a high-pitched scream.

I freeze, look around for the location. The scream comes again and I’m running, heading down another corridor, this one lit with red lights. I kick the door open. Three men turn to me, and I see . . .

I see a child, a girl no more than nine years old, struggling to get out of the grip of one of the men.

I scream, run forwards. I fire the gun, hit the closest in the head. He jerks back, falls over a chair. The one holding the girl releases her, tries to reach for something beneath his arm. I see a holster. I fire. He tries to dodge aside and my bullet wings him in the right arm. He drops behind the couch as the third one turns on me. I shoot him in the groin. He shrieks in pain, dropping to his knees. I turn to the other one but he’s already gone, vanished through a second door.

The girl . . . she’s gone too. Vanished. I look around frantically. Can’t find her. Did the third guy take her?

I hear a noise. Kneel down to see her hiding beneath a table.

Her eyes are wild, terrified. But they don’t focus on me, they stare at nothing. She still seems glamoured, but somehow the terror of her situation forced its way behind the spell.

I take my mask off, drop it to the floor.

‘Hey,’ I say softly. Her eyes drag around to look at me. I try to smile. ‘Hey there. Come on. You want to go? You want out of here?’ I gesture at her. ‘Come on. I’ll take care of you. I promise. I’ll protect you.’

And suddenly it’s as if I’m talking to Cally.

‘Trust me. I won’t let them hurt you. I promise you.’

She hesitates, then slowly crawls out towards me. I’m relieved to see she’s still clothed. The fuckers hadn’t had a chance to do whatever they were going to do. Her head jerks around, looking around the library, searching for danger.

I put my gun into my belt and hold my arms out and she runs into them, burrowing into my chest.

I straighten up, make meaningless sounds, trying to calm her down, to reassure her.

I turn and stare at the man I shot in the groin. He’s lying on the ground now, bleeding out, whimpering in fear. I look at the other one, sprawled across the table.

I feel rage. A deep, soul-destroying rage.

This. This is what we are. This is what we do to each other. Forget the orisha. Forget the monsters under the bed.
We’re
the fucking monsters under the bed. We’re the ones who do this.
Mankind
is the bogeyman. The word humanity doesn’t mean kindness, caring. If it represents us as a species then it means evil. Perversion.

When we prey on the innocent, when we can’t protect our own children, that’s it. Game over. We might as well all give up.

Lilith was right. We’ve fucked everything up.

I can feel the girl shivering against me. I stare at the man, watching him as his convulsions eventually slow, then stop. But I’m not really seeing him. I’m making comforting sounds to the girl, stroking her hair.

‘It’s OK,’ I whisper. ‘It’s OK.’

But it’s not.

I head over to the fire. I’m not thinking about it anymore. Just acting. Stopping this.

I take a piece of burning wood from the grate and touch it to the curtains. The material catches, the flames crawling rapidly up towards the ceiling. I stand still, watching the flames grow stronger, listening to the screams of pain from other parts of the house. Listening to the murder and insanity of these sick bastards.

The black smoke curls across the roof, staining the white paint. I watch. It’s hypnotic. It draws me in. How easy would it be to just stop? To let the smoke take my breath. To go to sleep and let the darkness claim me?

How easy to end everything?

The girl coughs.

I blink, look around, realizing I’ve been standing there for nearly a minute now. The flames have spread to the wall, crawling down to the furniture. I can feel the heat from all sides. The smell of the flames and smoke crawls into my nostrils.

-Dog.-

-Yeah?-

-All those cars outside. Burn them.-

-Seriously?-

-Burn everything.-

I need to move. Not much time. I still need to get to the sin-eater.

I stride from the room, eyes straight ahead. Someone screams for help. I turn. A young man is reaching out to me. His eyes are aware, the glamour burned away by the pain. Some hugely fat woman is trying to pull him along the tiles to a back room. I shove her away. She falls against the wall, her eyes wide with fear.

‘Get out,’ I say to the young man. I don’t recognize my voice. It’s cold, alien. A killer’s voice. ‘This whole place is going to burn.’

I take out my phone, call Armitage.

‘Where are you?’ I say.

‘Outside the front door. The dog said—’

‘Wait there.’

I make my way back to the entrance hall. There’s an orgy going on in the foyer. I cover the girl’s eyes as we pass and pull open the door. Armitage is waiting on the steps, nervously holding her gun. She looks briefly into my eyes, and obviously doesn’t like what she sees there, because she immediately turns her attention to the girl.

‘And who’s this bonny girl?’ she says in a tremulous voice and a failed attempt at a comforting smile.

I hand her over. ‘Put her in our car. Then get back in here and start getting these glamoured kids out. Quick.’

She nods and takes the girl down the steps. I rush back inside, take the stairs three at a time. Try the door on the second-floor landing, the one which Feelgood said he’d be waiting behind. Locked. I step back and kick it. Once. Twice. The door flies open.

Feelgood turns to me in surprise. His hands are hovering over a guest’s head. There’s a sickly, yellow glow hovering around them.

I fire the gun at the wall. The guest squeals in fear, jerking away from Feelgood.

‘Get out.’

‘You can’t,’ says Feelgood. ‘Interrupting the process at such a time—’

I fire my gun again. But this time I misjudge. The bullet ricochets from the metal bedpost and hits Feelgood in the hand.

He stares at it in amazement. Watching the blood flow freely from the wound. ‘You . . . shot me.’

I turn my attention to the guest. ‘Out. Now.’

He bolts from the room, leaving the two of us on our own.

‘What’s your name? Your real name?’ I ask Feelgood.

‘Stefan,’ he says, flopping down to sit on the bed.

‘Stefan, you’re coming with me.’

‘I . . . I assure you I am not.’

‘Fine. You can stay. But you’re going to talk to me now, Stefan. You’re going to tell me the things I need to know so I can catch a killer. Do you understand? Just nod.’

He doesn’t nod. He’s just staring at his hand. Blood is pooling on the bed between his legs.

‘This . . . really is quite astoundingly painful,’ he says.

‘Hey. Stefan. Focus. I know what you are. I know about the sin-eaters. I know how widespread you are—’

This finally makes him look up from his hand. ‘Then . . . you know you will be made to pay for this. My colleagues will hunt you. My clients will put you in jail.’

‘I don’t care anymore, Stefan. I really don’t. And if you interrupt me again I’ll shoot you in the dick.’

-London? You there?-

-I’m busy, dog.-

-Sure, sure. But you know the house is on fire, right? The whole back section is burning.-

I tilt my head and listen. I can hear screams, different screams, louder. Not just the glamoured victims anymore. But the guests too.

-
Is Armitage getting the the vics out?-

-Yeah.-

-Good. Wait in the car. We’ll talk later.-

His presence leaves my mind. I turn my attention to Stefan. ‘Tell me about the first sin.’

His eyes widen in shock. ‘How do you know of this?’

‘I just do. Explain to me exactly what it is.’

‘I . . . I can’t.’ He winces and move his hand. As he does so blood actually shoots out of the wound. It’s a spurter. Must have got a few blood vessels.

‘I . . . need medical attention.’

‘Later.’

‘Now! I must stop this blood, you fool.’

I sigh. ‘You have a first-aid kit in here?’

He eyes light up. ‘Yes. There are drugs. Bandages. In the next room.’ He nods at an interconnecting door.

I hurry across and open the door into a second, larger bedroom. I look around, see a first-aid box mounted on the wall. I yank it free and take it back to Stefan, dropping it on his lap. He scrambles around inside and grabs a thick bandage, wrapping it around his hand. Then he finds a bottle of clear liquid and a syringe. He sucks the liquid up and injects it into his arm.

The effects are immediate. He slumps back against the bed, his eyes fluttering closed. I kick him.

‘Hey. Wake up.’

He looks at me and smiles dreamily. What the hell was in that bottle? Morphine?

‘What . . . do you wish to talk about?’

‘You know what. The first sin.’

‘Ah yes. The . . . first sin. Of course.’

‘So? What is it?’

‘It is . . .’ He smiles again. ‘It is the sin of God.’

I blink. I open my mouth, then shut it again. Finally, I say, ‘What?’

‘The sin of God. That is what the first sin refers to.’

I shake my head in confusion. ‘How? How can God sin? Explain.’

‘To do that I must take you back. Back to a place and a time long, long ago.’ He giggles. ‘And a galaxy far, far away.’

I kick him again. His eyes snap open, focus on me.

‘Concentrate, Stefan.’

‘It . . . started before the great flood. Apparently God was making . . . questionable decisions. Sodom and Gomorrah. Gob. Abraham. All the old testament stuff. He . . . was like an abusive spouse. Wrathful. Envious. Prideful. Greedy. He wanted everything for himself.’

Wrath. Envy. Pride, Greed. ‘Those are four of the seven sins.’

Stefan points at me and winks. ‘Exactly. Spot on. Well done.’ He giggles. ‘The archangels were uneasy, but they didn’t feel they could act against him. He was God, after all. But he . . . got worse. The sins, they . . . it was like they were . . . alive. They were eating him up inside, taking over. He was giving in to them. And then he . . . discovered something that pushed him over the edge. He released the great flood. That was when the angels realized if they didn’t do something, God would destroy the world.’

‘What did they do?’

‘Michael and Gabriel came up with an idea. They created a being – something called the Sinwalker. Someone who could take the sins from God, take them inside of himself. This . . . Sinwalker was to hold them, experience them, so God didn’t have to.’

‘Did it work?’

‘It . . . seems so. After they created the Sinwalker we get the New Testament. A wholly different God.’

‘So this . . . this Sinwalker. What happened to him?’

‘He went mad. Utterly insane. It was inevitable, really. If God couldn’t handle the sins, how could anyone else? Michael and Gabriel had to come up with another . . . solution. They created a . . . a coterie. The sin-eaters. It was their task to . . . siphon off some of the sin from the Sinwalker. To lessen the burden. Forever after.’

‘What do you mean forever after?’

‘The Sinwalker is . . . still alive. Immortal. God’s sin never lessens, you see. It does not dissipate with time. Quite the opposite. It . . . builds. Grows stronger. Hence the continued need for us. We . . . get surges. Of . . . of sin. Every now and then the sins come to us from the Sinwalker. When it is . . . too much for him to contain. But we . . . cannot hold it all. There are too few of us now. And many are dying without passing on their sin to the next in line.’