Less than a mile into her run, Gaby's urgency for speed waned, as did the pulse of life. Devoid of traffic, conversation, and children at play, an eerie stillness pervaded the area. No drunks fouled the air with insults. Birds didn't sing. The air stilled.
Gaby glanced around. Startling silence roared in her brain; she drew a strained, heavy breath.
Sweat glued her hair to her forehead and sealed her shirt to her flesh. In the furthest recesses of her mind, Gaby still felt the burning of her muscles and the tripping beat of her heart, but she remained unaffected by physical dominion.
In front of her, looming dark and still, an abandoned factory lured her. Determination and duty carried Gaby up the slight incline, over broken glass, sharp twigs, and crumbling concrete. Dead, moldered bugs crunched beneath her feet.
At the oily remains of an old discarded engine. Gaby paused. She was close. With each step she took toward the bulky, blackened brick face of the factory, the more her vision blurred. Eventually, she knew she'd see only vague outlines haloed by constantly shifting colors, tints, and hues to guide her actions and infuse her with necessary information.
Her feet moved by rote, taking her to a burned-out lot that butted into a decaying woods, concealed at the back of the building.
The core of the misery nestled here.
Bile burned in Gaby's chest, her pace lagged—and then it seized her in its awful, unrelenting vise. For too many heartbeats, the choking impact squeezed her gangling body. A futile cry gurgled in her throat before she regained herself, accepting the pain and deciphering its instruction.
Reflective heat undulated from the asphalt, seeping through Gaby's rubber flip-flops, sealing her within the pain so that it was a part of her, and her a part of it.
Forcing her heavy, plodding limbs to move, Gaby circled around the minacious face of the structure. Black as sightless eyes, broken windows stared at her. Her breath came in silent wisps, inadequate to feed her starving lungs.
The horror of what she knew she'd find shrieked in her brain.
She didn't want to do this.
But, oh God… she knew she had no choice.
She never did.
Chapter Three
A chaotic inferno of rich colors—bloody red, darkest brown, and writhing black—danced frenetically before her. The turbulence of the twisting hues indicated pain and fear, but not just pain and fear from the hapless victim. Such an explosion of color could only emanate from more than one person.
Where? Where?
Standing near a putrid Dumpster ripe with the stench of rot, feeding maggots, and refuse, she saw the sobbing child. Narrow arms stretched out, trying to fend off a nightmare of hideous features.
With the plethora of enraged colors indicating many things, Gaby tried to clear her vision, to better see through the auras to the physical features of the attacker. But still she saw… things she didn't quite comprehend or believe.
Sure, monsters existed. She knew it because she'd sent plenty of them to hell. But to the world, they looked like everyone else. They looked normal. Only with her divine talent did she see an exterior that matched their rotted souls.
But this time, she saw more.
She saw teratoid deformities. Gruesome. Inhuman. Sickening…
Revulsion raced up her spine as she stared in slack-jawed distaste at the target. Yes, she'd been summoned to this… this… whatever it might be.
Tall, but obviously old with a hunching posture that nearly bent the emaciated body in half. Bowed legs seemed inadequate to support the frame, and gnarled hands sported short, fattened fingers that gave the appearance of mittens.
Gaby swallowed convulsively. Aged, wrinkled skin bunched and puckered on the cheek and forehead, making room for a violation of odd fleshy protrusions. Except for the quivering, gelatinous blobs of vein-riddled, dimpled flesh that clung to the side of its head, the form appeared human.
A wail of sheer terror snapped up Gaby's attention. She looked beyond the creature and focused on the little boy.
Did he see the figure the same as she did? Did he realize that which tried to defile him wasn't human? Did that poor little boy comprehend the demon in the guise of a barely human form?
Visually as well as mentally, Gaby was accustomed to perceiving the truth. But this little boy wouldn't be.
How could he bear the sight of the awful dastard?
Kids and animals generated much pity. They were so sweet and pure, they couldn't comprehend the brutal depravity often heaped upon them.
Sounds passed Gaby's ears: needy, gulping whimpers mixed with unintelligible pleas, and finally helpless mewling. In her present state, the words were indecipherable, but she understood the appeal.
The kid, who couldn't have been more than eight or nine, begged for help and a justice that only she could give. He was hurt and horrified, but evil hadn't gotten what it wanted.
Not yet.
It only toyed with the boy, frightening him, setting him up, weakening him with raw terror. She still had time.
Thank you, God.
Pain meant less than nothing to her when faced with saving a child. She would not let him down. She would not let herself down.
Bigger and stronger with purpose, Gaby slid her knife free of the sheath. Razor-edged steel on weathered leather emerged with a lethal hiss, bolstering her, empowering her. Steps metered and sure, she approached the scene, placing herself center stage, gaining sudden attention.
With a shock of displeasure, evil's face knotted and gnarled. The clumps of live flesh, covered in a glossy sheen, jiggled and flushed with ripening fury. The weight of the grotesque appendages kept the semihuman form off-kilter, listing to the side, adding to the loathsome image.
It released its grip on the trembling boy.
The child looked at Gaby, and even through the haze, she saw the awful anguish that would haunt him for all of his years.
He'd met the bogeyman, and he would never forget.
Gaby inhaled a painful, shuddering breath—and accepted the truth: She was on time, and yet, sadly… she wasn't.
"Go." She didn't hear her own voice; she never could, not when duty dominated her every sense. Most normal humans would have wanted to console the child, to reassure him.
That wasn't her job.
She didn't know shit about consolation.
But destruction… oh yeah. That she knew.
All her senses stayed tuned to the wicked face of corruption. As if the apparition felt confusion at her interference, or maybe over its own inclinations, bright violet and dark indigo churned together. The monster hesitated before taking a step toward her.
Oh yeah, Gaby thought, come to me.
And the colors mutated.
Bursts of blood red erupted, broken only by black holes boring through the crimson. This demon suffered excruciating pain and physical imbalance.
Gaby didn't soften an inch.
Because of her present insight, Gaby knew that the soul of this enmity had devoured many children. To her mind, it deserved to suffer. Without her intervention, it might have gone on to ruin other innocents. But now, finally, it had erred.
It came within Gaby's reach.
God wanted it gone, and she'd damn well see to it—gladly.
The boy back-stepped on weak, clumsy legs, faltering, shuddering, removing himself from her peripheral vision. Gaby allowed herself to be drawn into the evil, to understand it and experience it.
The better to destroy it.
"Go," she screamed one last time, and the boy turned in a stumbling rush, sobbing hard, fleeing as fast as he could. The vulgar, monstrous head turned to watch as its prey got away.
"No," Gaby taunted with certainty, "you won't ever touch him." Though fever burned through her, evaporating the sweat on her skin, her fingers were icy-tight on the bone handle of the lethal blade. "You're mine, you malformed bastard. All mine."