Fathom by Mikel Parry

CH – GHOSTNAPPED

The drive back to the now enigmatic building of mystery was routine now. When he had gotten into the car he knew he would have some explaining to do. In a short time he had successfully pinned himself against the wall. He had alienated his allies, been baited out by his enemies, and felt himself slipping every day he remained on the case. Looking over at Bob Cat, he knew he had cut him deeply. Bob Cat had just lost everything, and now he was on shaky ground in a relationship with someone he thought he could trust explicitly. , And that someone was Demo.

Demo didn’t know how to repair relationships; he only knew how to destroy them. But he at least had to attempt to bring their friendship back from the cruddy hole he had dumped it in.

“I had that dream again . . . the one where I kill Mike.”

Bob Cat remained silent, staring ahead as he drove.

“I had to lie to them to come and get you. That seems to be all we do now is lie. We lie to each other and we lie to ourselves. Jacky’s gone, my family’s gone, and now I’m picking you up naked at a phone booth. Just one lie after another.”

Demo cringed at the pain that spilled out along with Bob Cat’s words.

“I’m sorry, Bobby, it’s just the way it had to be.”

Bob Cat whipped out a cigarette and took a long drag off its poisonous end. Demo thought to ask the obvious question, but stopped himself. He knew why he was smoking again. Bobby didn’t care anymore. As they arrived at Roslin’s secret, fun house neither looked each other in the eye. Demo still felt the almost uncontrollable urge to shiver. His clothes had for the most part dried, but his confidence was still drowning in an ocean of doubt. Could he really beat this thing? Would winning mean losing everything he held dear?

“I’m so sick of this shite,” mumbled Bob Cat trailing off and flicking his used up cigarette into the alley.

Once inside the building, Roslin was on top of them like the apex predator that he was.

“What happened to you? I give you some leash and you come back half frozen to death?”

Demo glanced up to see a surprising look of concern plastered across Roslin’s normally indifferent face. Also of interest was the blue and black shiner he was sporting.

Had Roslin and Bob Cat finally had it out?

“Rough date?” asked Demo, keeping an eye on Bob Cat’s reaction.

Surprisingly, Bob Cat looked just as surprised as he was.

Who had Roslin been tangling with?

“Forget the eye; we’ve got more important things to talk about. Where have you been? And don’t dodge me. I deserve some answers here!”

“He broke him.”

Both Bob Cat and Roslin looked at Demo when he spoke. They were fully accustomed to Demo’s nonsensical ways of doing things, so they stayed silent and waited.

“He broke Spencer just like he broke Kevin Randall. He broke them down in order to rebuild them the way he wanted them. Every murder through the years a work of art, carefully crafted and executed; but his hands were always clean. He needed a new zealot, one worthy of him, someone he could lord over, dig into their lives and manipulate to the point of insanity.”

Roslin interjected.

“What you’re describing is brainwashing. So are we up against an entire cult that this madman has put together?”

Demo shook his head.

“There’s no way he’d risk that; too many ideas, opinions, too many loose ends to oversee. With one blind follower at a time he can create intimacy, becoming almost like a father figure.”

Demo’s words trailed off.

Was it possible? Could there be a connection?

“I need to go back in time; at least back in what Spencer perceives in his mind as the past. I have a feeling that whatever I missed the first time is waiting for me there. I’ve been going about this all wrong. I’ve been treating Spencer and Kevin Randall as cold, calculated killers, which they are, don’t get me wrong. But they’re also victims. They’ve been deceived just as much as we have. They’ve been turned into rabid dogs released by their master’s call.”

Bob Cat grumbled.

“Just what does all that blooming nonsense have to do with us? Or anyone for that matter?”

Demo shrugged, shaking his head.

“I’m not sure. But something is happening right under our noses and we just aren’t seeing it. Someone pushed off the dock trying to silence me, but failed. I must be getting close. The pressure’s mounting. Something will have to give soon.”

Roslin grimaced.

“I thought you’d eventually bring that up,” he said, looking discouraged.

“What do you mean?” Demo asked.

“We found the missing car . . . or at least what was left of it.”

Resisting the urge to throw a declarative fist pump into the air, Demo calmly pressed further.

“And?”

“Typical in every way—generic car, bought with cash, no discernible records as of yet, and no real history—we’re in the process of scrubbing it as we speak.”

So you are human . . .

“And what do you suppose they’re gonna find in that old tuna can? If this guy’s as good as Demo says they’ll come up empty.”

Demo imposed himself into their conversation.

“But there was a car! Don’t you see? There was a car and he disposed of it in a hurry! This is great news!”

Both Roslin and Bob Cat both looked at him warily. Roslin thought to question Demo’s seemingly premature joy but were promptly cut off.

“I need to speak with Jo right now! I need to get myself back into Spencer’s mind, but this time at the right time and place.”

Demo darted off, leaving them behind. Roslin closed his eyes and let out a sigh of sour air. Beneath his breath he was reciting a stream of four-letter poetry as he motioned for Bob Cat to follow.

Once they had made it through the extensive security protocols, Demo went straight for Jo. When Jo saw that Demo was making a straight trajectory for him, he tried to avoid him for fear of being strangled. By the time Bob Cat and Roslin reached the control room they found a rather peculiar game of cat and mouse being enacted.

“Get this freak away from me, man! I’ve got data to go over and he busts in here like he owns the place!”

Roslin put his face directly into his palm. For all of Jo’s strengths being brave was definitely not on that list.

“Demo, please back off of Mr. Orson.”

Demo paused in his pursuit of Jo, feeling largely unmoved by the commanding decree from Roslin.

“I was just trying to tell him to get me back inside Spencer’s head. I don’t know what his problem is!”

Jo scoffed at his remark while adjusting his now crooked glasses.

“You’re my problem, man! You give me the heebie jeebies!”

Demo’s shoulders slumped. He hated having his progress slowed. How was he supposed to get anything done?

“Both of you just calm down; and for once, Mr. Ward, please speak in a language that we can all understand!”

Demo bit his tongue; to his amazement he was on the verge of a verbal onslaught of his own.

What’s happening to me?

“The first time I went in, I ended up in the city. I need to get back there. And it’s imperative that I do it soon.”

Roslin looked at the befuddled Jo, who rolled his eyes in protest.

“Okay. I’ll check Spencer’s trace patterns and see if anything lines up with the data log from Demo’s first trip; but don’t let him follow me! Last thing I need is some pyscho looking over my shoulder!”

Bob Cat grinned.

“Just one big happy family . . .”

“Shut up, you. You never help the situation,” retorted Roslin, straightening his immaculate suit.

The group fell into a momentarily silence, each of them piecing together their own conclusions. It only took a few minutes for the ecstatic Jo to burst back into the room.

“The print pattern’s a match! The synaptic mold fit almost perfectly with the correlated data from your first trip. This table’s a hot ride, man!”

All three of the men looked at Jo with long faces drawn out by pure exhaustion. Being accustomed to the look, Jo iterated his point further.

“It looks like he’s in the same state of mind. Now is as good as ever to try.”

“Well, why didn’t you just say so?” snapped Bob Cat sarcastically.

“Let’s do this then. I don’t want to waste any more time.”

Demo hurriedly laid down in Fathom. He tried to prepare himself mentally as best he could. Who knew what darkness he was getting into? He put his curiosity on temporary hold as the familiar waves of energy surged through him like a roaring river, out of reality as he knew it into the world of the Fathom.

“Yo, watch it, man! You ’bout took my head off!”

Demo shook his head trying to flush the fuzz balls of confusion he’d picked up on the way in..

Wait, I know this . . .

“Far out threads, man.”

Demo’s pause in thought was broken by a déjà vu in full clarity. He stood quietly and tried to recall every step of his first journey. A woman on roller skates flew by him swinging a flashy turquoise necklace around her neck as she passed. Then he heard the thunderous chants of the group he remembered from what seemed like ages ago.

It’s all the same. At least so far it’s all the same. That means the boy should be—

“Hey, watch it mister!”

Demo already knew what was going to happen since he’d seen it before. But he needed to react genuinely. He still wasn’t sure where Spencer’s manifestation was dwelling.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there. Here let me help you pick those up.”

The boy frowned.

“Now I’m gonna be late. I sure hope they don’t get too angry.”

Demo frowned. For some reason he felt inclined to address the situation with a bit more bravado.

“Who are they? What will you be late for?”

The boy looked like he was in complete shock, but his tense face eased and he returned to his endeavor.

“That’s none of your business. Not anyone’s place to be asking who and what. I shouldn’t be talking to strangers.”

Demo watched as the boy gathered his things and sped away. As he left he shot Demo an incredulous look of concern.

“You sure have a groovy looking suit, mister,” mumbled Demo underneath his breath.

Demo felt his nerves humming inside of him like a beehive. He needed a direction; he needed to move quickly; a hand rested on his shoulder from behind.

“Sir, is everything okay? Was that boy bothering you? Been a lot of petty theft as of late . . .”

Demo realized what he had to do. But doing it horrified him. Taking a long-legged stride he began to run away from the dumbstruck policeman.

“Sir, sir, are you okay?”

Glancing behind, he’d turned just in time to see a well-aimed soda bomb hit the police officers dead on. In an instant they were off in hot pursuit of the hate mongering protestor. Demo kept his momentum forward. He needed to find her, the woman from before. She knew things about this world that he did not. As he approached her hokey stand, his wit sparked into motion.

When his eyes met hers he was taken aback by her beauty. It was amazing that a manifested apparition of Spencer’s mind was able to ignite a little flame of romantic feeling in an alternate reality.

“Hey, you look like you could use a break. Those are some far out—”

Demo interrupted her mid-sentence to try and hurry things along.

“Threads, am I right? I’m not from around here, and I come from way, way out there.”

The slender torso of the woman moved slightly backwards, putting some distance between herand the human oddity that stood before her.

“Yeah . . . that’s what I was going to say.”

The woman was being defensive making Demo realize how brash he’d been. Taking a deep breath first, he continued.

“I’m sorry; I’m just a little stressed out what with all the commotion around here. Been hearing some serious allegation about the gang crime ’round here. I didn’t mean to spook you out like that.”

His comment seemed to briefly relax both of them a little. Dropping her shoulders,she nodded her head.

“It’s fine. I can’t blame you for feeling that way. I’d close up shop and leave if I could, but I just can’t pull enough green.”

Demo took a step carefully forward, watching her body language closely.

“I’ve got to be honest; I’m not really from here at all. In fact, none of this seems real to me. But I’ve lost a friend and can’t seem to find him. I’m worried that he got caught up with the wrong crowd and now can’t find a way out. He’s the reason I’m here. I really, really don’t want him ending up being just another statistic, ya know?”

The woman suddenly darted back into her shop and out of sight. Demo visually deflated.

Well there goes that option. I guess I could always chase the Godfather again.

Just as he was about to forsake his resolve and leave, a slender hand jutted into view. It hesitantly beckoned him to come closer. Sliding into the quirky shop, he was snatched up by his collar and found himself face-to-face with the gorgeous woman.

“Look, buddy. You’d do well not to go poking around like that in public. When people disappear here, it’s probably for a good reason. Don’t try to raise the dead.”

Demo closed his eyes, trying to calm himself as his ears rang with an orchestra-like fervor of rushing blood. He couldn’t lose this lead.

“He’s a good friend. He’d do the same for me.”

To his surprise, the grip on his collar loosened up enough for him to squirm away. Staring into her two brilliant, blue eyes, which were assessing him carefully, an answer finally came.

“Head to the docks and hit up the old warehouses. That’s where all the bad people do their business. But don’t tell anybody I told you so. To be honest, you probably won’t last five minutes out there. Nobody does.”

Demo nodded as if agreeing. But in reality he was screaming from the inside out. Just what was he getting himself into? Stepping back out into the fathomed world of old, he remembered why she would say that.

He moved with great purpose and courage. Ignoring suspicious glances, his pace remained unbroken. So many things were coming woefully together. So many things that had been overlooked, misunderstood, and left behind. If he was going to get this right, he’d have to face them all again.

Arriving at the docks, he was completely in awe at how different the area was back then. The aged buildings of his reality had been replaced by their much younger selves; proud, ambitious edifices of a time now forgotten. But the ambiance in the area was unchanged. It was dimly lit, out of the way, and for all intents and purposes, a murderer’s playground. What better place for evil creatures to gather, plot, plan, and execute? It had easy access to the endless sprawl of the city, criminal anonymity hidden within fabricated businesses, and the wide mouth of the river to dispose of any dangerous evidence. This had to be the place.

As he searched the buildings for the so-called fishery, he couldn’t help but whirl with the realization of where he was. He was standing in the fresh, untainted tomb of the unfortunate victims of his own, true reality. He recalled the cop car ride that had taken his breath away. He recalled the grotesque scene of violence that had taken some of Jacky’s few and proud away. It was now far more organized; cleaned up. The loose objects that had been scattered at the scene were now laboriously placed in neat order outside of the massive doors leading into the warehouse. It seemed that the attention to detail in this place was in high resolution. But it was what he saw next that rewarded his efforts; a large metal sign that read “Fish Co.”

.

As he approached the building, something caught his eye that shook him to his very core—an old yet surprisingly new car—old in the sense of his memory of it in his reality, but new in every other aspect. He approached it gingerly, knowing he had seen one just like it that had contained one of the now deceased zealots who followed the puppet master. The flashbacks of that day ran full view through his brain, reminding him what he was fighting for.

Cadillac DeVille . . . you kept this car . . . why?

The automobile sat just a hundred yards or so from the looming warehouse. It appeared to be empty, but not long. It was apparent that the driver had left the car only moments before his arrival. He needed to find his courage. Stepping just a bit closer to the car he saw something he had seen before but in a much more macabre way. A small doll with a blue hat and blue suspenders sat in the back seat. It, unlike the one of recent memory, was in pristine condition. This brought his thoughts back to the woman with blue eyes.

She had divulged the area by Spencer’s perception of it. It was a long shot but in Demo’s mind, this would be the epicenter of activity. Strangely enough, it was eerily quiet. But he knew better than to trust his insights here. The warehouse had to be the place. It would contain key to the end of this madness. Turning his attention away from the car, he pressed on toward the beginning of the end. But his progress was suddenly thrown backwards by an immense force. It muffled his screams for help with an ice cold hand pressed harshly onto his face. Demo tried to fight back but found he was completely helpless. The phantom of the night would be having his way with him one way or another.

He watched as the warehouse and car slipped further from view. Then without warning, he was tossed to the ground. The impact jolted his body with pain. He gasped madly for air, teetering on the edge of consciousness. He tried to stand when the feeling of cold steel pressed firmly against his head froze him with terror. Then came a warped, almost inhuman voice.

“Get up and move.”

Not one to argue with a dark demon manifested within a killer’s mind, Demo got up. The man herded him around like a lost calf. With each step the man’s pistol dug deeper into Demo’s back as he barked orders at him. The man pushed him farther away from what Demo had assumed was the epicenter of activity in Spencer’s mind; so far, in fact, that the familiar details had begun to fade. Store signs and street signs were lost to him. This gave him insight into a very obvious fact; this man was not a part of the nightmarish apparition. So who was he then? What was he going to do with Demo?

“Down there.”

Demo looked where the man was pointing. It was down a flight of stairs leading into a dark tunnel. He tried to catch a glimpse of the man’s face but was distracted by the whirlwind of the fade that was just a stone’s throw away. Its raging sparks crackled and thundered showing off all of its destructive power and force. Another shove of the gun barrel into his back forced him to move.

Reaching the bottom, he saw the dank emptiness c of the tunnel. If there was ever a better place to be forgotten, he hadn’t seen it.

“Sit!”

The stern words came from Demo’s captor. He did what he was told, plopping down on the murky, sewage covered floor. His nostrils filled with a horrid stench. The man stayed, but kept himself in the shadows, doing his best to remain unseen. He was like a ghost, a nightmarish ghoul that plagued his mind like a cancer.

Great. I’ve been ghostnapped.

Demo watched as the mysterious man paced back and forth, letting out a telethon’s worth of jumbled words. It was almost as if he was struggling to contain himself.

“Why are you here?”

Demo couldn’t muster any words. The man’s voice was chilling. It was as if many people resided in that one tortured body. Demo’s heart pounded against his chest as if trying to burst free. But he had to finish this. He had to press the demon further.

“I was going to ask you the same thing.”

The comment made the man shiver. One of his hands shot into view for just a moment. It was pale, worn, and skeletal. It shook wildly as the man tried to regroup.

“Did they send you?” he demanded, pointing his pistol into the maelstrom outside.

Demo didn’t speak; he only nodded, hoping he could buy time.

“Dammit, they never stop! It never stops!”

The man’s words came out tinged with fear, remorse, and pain, and then he went silent. When it seemed that the silence would go on forever, he stepped from the shadows into view. Demo gasped in horror. The man was a walking corpse. He wore the attire reminiscent of none other than Roslin Tanner. But inside was a man barely grasping to life. His eyes sunk back into jutting sockets. His hair was matted, long, and unkempt. He was a collage of deterioration in the process of fading away forever. Suddenly the man tightly grabbed a hold of his own fist that held the gun and struggled with himself.

“I’ll kill you, you little rat fink!”

The threat spewed from the man’s mouth forcefully. It made Demo cringe. Was he talking to him?

“I can’t . . . I can’t keep doing this.”

Demo’s curiosity could be held at bay no longer.

“Doing what? What is wrong with you? Who are you?”

The man let out a tiny fissure of a grin very briefly before reassuming his chaotic persona.

“Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?”

Demo watched as the man paced back and forth, grasping at his head and occasionally letting out bursts of anger.

“I’ll slice that heart free, Anthony! Come on, let me find you!”

Demo then did something unthinkable. Standing back up, he grabbed the struggling man and shook him.

“Get a grip on yourself! Fight this!”

He watched as the man’s stormy eyes calmed. Then, without warning, he collapsed. With a loud clack, the gun bounced into the churning water outside. Immediately, Demo pounced on him, doing his best to keep the man cognizant.

“Stay with me, buddy! Stay with me!”

Feeling hopeless, he did the only thing that seemed logical; rearing his arm back, he let it loose and slapped the man across the face. The man let out another guttural scream before finally appearing to calm down a bit. He glanced up to catch Demo’s eyes.

“I’m sorry . . . it’s been a long time . . . a very, very long time.”

Demo was shocked by when the once convoluted mesh of voices melded into just one.

“I’m Anthony, Anthony Dredge, an agent with those who sent you here.”

Demo’s eyes bulged open. Had he just heard that right? The implications of the statement being true were grave, and completely ridiculous.

“What did you just say?”

The man shook his head.

“Still lying like always . . . damn you, Roslin.”

Demo gasped, “You know Roslin?”

The man took a deep breath then shakily got to his feet, doing his best to dust off all the filth he had accumulated.

“Know him? I was one of his golden boys. Piece of work had me spun up saving lives for the greater good, doesn’t surprise me in the least. That man will do anything to get results. I suppose that’s why he is who he is and I’m here.”

Demo shook his head, and then shook it again. An enormous amount of information had just poured out even though so little being said. He now had a novel’s worth of questions to ask. But he also knew his time was short. He had to be concise, articulate, and to the point; no easy feat for Demo.

“Yeah, I hate that guy too.”

The man cracked another miniscule smile that quickly faded. His hands began to shake violently but he did his best to control them.

“It comes and goes. I won’t be able to maintain this much longer.”

The man closed his eyes tightly. He appeared to be in an excruciating amount of pain.

“I guess I better explain a few things. I’m Agent Anthony Dredge, or at least what’s left of him. I was part of the Fathom project to help solve the blood legacy murders. I was deployed; hell, I don’t even remember when I was deployed anymore. All I remember is being found, tortured, and then forgotten. I’ve been rotting away here ever since. I’m sure Roslin’s had my body disposed of along with any other traces of my existence.”

Demo slouched against the wall. He felt deeply betrayed. He had been so preoccupied, so focused on the obvious evil candidates, that those nearest to him had been swept under the rug. He was a fool for ever trusting such a secretive man and organization.

“Why wouldn’t he tell me? Why would he lie about this?”

The man let out an almost inhuman-like cackle in response.

“Isn’t it obvious? Would you have come? How do you think they came up with all their little rules? You’re standing next to their first test rat.”

Demo frowned, trying to hide his boiling feelings of anger, betrayal, and revenge.

“What’s happening to you?”

The man placed one of his hands in full view. He looked at its pulsating veins now vividly visible beneath his paling flesh.

“I’m losing myself. After Spencer caught me here, it became my prison. He tortured me for a while until it bored him enough to let me take a back seat. I became a permanent resident of this damned memory in this damned place, reliving the same moments over and over again, with no end in sight. Each day, another piece of me chips away and becomes part of him. His filth seeps out of me now; unhinged, uncontrollable. I can’t imagine a worse hell.”

Demo’s heart sank. Anthony Dredge had truly suffered greatly at the hands of the powers that be. Suffered greatly, and been rewarded with a decaying purgatory with no escape. But then something occurred to him that hadn’t before.

“I saw you. You were watching me the first time I came here. You were the man standing in the shadows, weren’t you?”

Anthony nodded, now starting to look feeble and mad again.

“When you’ve been here as long as I have, you don’t miss a thing.”

There was a brief pause. It was clear Anthony was beginning to lose the battle with Spencer’s vicious, unyielding subconscious.

“I’ll gut ya like a fish, Anthony!”

Demo put a naïve hand out in an ill attempt to comfort the suffering man. But the battle he was waging came from within. He began to speak but was cut off by a declaration from Anthony.

“That’s why I brought you here. This is the edge of this world. Spencer’s focus never looks at the edge. I’ve been surviving like a rat in the shadows all this time; trying, hoping, that Spencer will forget he’s locked me away in this hell. Hoping that someday I can finally just be blissfully erased.”

Anthony put his head in his hands and quivered. His behavior was becoming increasingly erratic.

“Filthy bastard! Coward! You’re a coward, Anthony!”

Anthony swung one of his free hands madly in the air, striking aimlessly. He was fading fast, and so was Demo’s time. He needed to ask the right questions and he needed to do it now.

“Anthony, I need you to tell me something, okay? Did you find Spencer here? Who is Spencer in this world?”

Anthony twitched violently. His body looked like it was possessed by a demon; but a demon with a name.

“Anthony, I don’t have much time! You’ve got to tell me where Spencer is! Did you find him here? What do you know? I know this is the place; this must be where it all started!”

His lunatic behavior was escalating. Anthony smacked his hands against his head repeatedly, mumbling a slew of gibberish. His eyes were completely untamed, uncontrolled, and malicious. He lunged at the unexpected Demo, grabbing him by the neck. Demo was surprised how strong the possessed Anthony was. They clashed together, rolling around in the repugnant sewage water that filled the tunnel.

“Anthony, stop!” pleaded Demo, through the vice-like grip around his neck.

He flung his hands recklessly about as he tried to devise a counter offensive. But overtaking the insane, almost inhuman movement of Anthony was proving to be problematic. He had to do something soon; Anthony was squeezing the life out of him. Demo’s focus right now was just to survive. But Anthony’s attack would not cease. He seemed to be growing stronger the longer they fought. Demo had to do something or risk being forever entombed inside Spencer’s warped mind.

Glancing around, he found a transparent beacon of hope: an empty beer bottle. Its label was long gone along with most of its more intricate features. Even its shapely outline appeared fuzzy and faded. But all it had to do was manifest correctly against the head of Anthony.

Demo abated his attack against Anthony, and focused his effort at the abandoned bottle. He could see the dark cloud beginning to pour in from the sides of his peripheral vision; he was passing out. His finger crept along the ground one grimy inch after another. His vision was now completely clouded. All around him was the warm blanket of unconsciousness begging him to let go. But from somewhere deep inside he found one last fragment of awareness. Amidst Anthony’s demonic like banter, he let out a painful scream of agony, stretching his arm beyond its limits. Suddenly, the smooth neck of the bottle was in his grasp, as he swung it upwards and released it against the head of a monstrous Anthony.

“Let go of me!!!” Demo shrieked with exertion

Anthony fell back against the wall, and then slowly slid to the ground, hand firmly against his forehead. A stream of crimson red blood spewed out from between the cracks of his fingers. Demo rolled onto his back, gasping for air desperately. Seconds passed slowly as the two struggled to regain their composure. Tt was Anthony who spoke first.

“I’m so sorry for all of this. I’m sorry for bringing you here. I can’t keep him out anymore; he’s becoming too strong.”

Demo coughed out a glob of blood that spattered onto his shabby suit. He slowly rose into a seated position. He wanted to speak, but Anthony had more to say.

“It’s been such a long time—so long since I’ve felt anything real—this is all I know now.”

Anthony let his hand drop to his side. He walked over to the entrance to the murky tunnel and stared into the raging tornado of the fade.

“It’s funny . . . When I first came here I thought I knew everything there was to know about evil. I’d seen so much of it back there. I spent my life searching for it. A lifetime of following my own intuition, tracking dead-ends . . . and the whole time he was right under my nose. I must have run into him a thousand times. But naivety has a way of hiding those things. I was a damn fool for not seeing it. Now it’s too late.”

Anthony dropped his head into his hands. His soul was obviously bursting with regret. His pain was almost palpable. Demo’s mind cranked away, realizing that he too had used a phrase much akin to what Anthony had just said. Suddenly his gut filled with a sickening goo that percolated its way up into his throat, threatening to spew its acidic contents into his mouth. His mind stopped at one conclusion he had previously neglected to see. Now that it had come into view, it was more than he thought he could bear. But Anthony had spoken clearly; there would be no mistaking it any longer. He was chilled to the bone by the next outburst from Anthony.

“You need to leave now. It’s coming! Go! Run!”

Anthony’s words shored up Demo’s resolve. Anthony’s legions of inner demons were returning, all speaking at once. Demo needed to run for his life. The fade was closing in. on them. The waters beneath it churned madly before being sucked up into its blackened depths. The sight was beyond any nightmare Demo could have conjured up himself. He turned and saw Anthony clawing at his hair, ferociously losing control. He wanted to save him but knew deep down inside that Anthony was too far gone. If Demo was going to end this madness, he had to survive. Using every ounce of energy left inside of him, he sprinted towards the city while everything behind him was rapidly ripped apart. He only looked back once and saw Anthony gazing at him. Only something deep inside told him that Anthony was no longer alone. A single heartbeat later he felt the world around him breaking apart. Waves of current pulsated through him before everything went black.