Black Rain, page 26
“Hey,” she said, snapping out of it. “What’s happening?”
“Routman is on his way,” I said. “He’s bringing ‘people.’”
“What people?”
“I don’t know exactly, but I have a pretty good idea—corporate vultures, probably.” I took in her somewhat vulnerable demeanor. “Are you okay? Things got pretty intense in there.”
Knight nodded. “I’m okay—unlike Pearson. I can’t believe what happened. He didn’t deserve to go out like that.”
“No, he didn’t,” I said grimly. “He could be an asshole, but he was a decent guy and good at his job.”
“He saved my life in there. I didn’t even get to thank him properly.”
“I’m sure he knew.”
A brief silence settled between us as we each smoked our cigarettes, before Knight said, “You still haven’t told me what happened to Cross.”
“Nephraxia is what happened. She came and took Cross, along with his son.”
“What? You… called her?”
“No, I didn’t. She came of her own accord.”
“Jesus, Ethan.”
“She said she was going to make Cross one of her acolytes.”
Knight considered this for a second. “In a fucked up way, it’s a fitting demise for someone like Cross.”
“He got what he deserved.” Dropping my cigarette onto the gravel, I ground it underfoot. “Listen, you should go to your appointment with Maria Gomez now. I already sent her a text explaining why you’re late. But if you’re not up for it, I can rearrange—”
“No,” she said. “I’ll go. What I experienced in that house only makes me want the ink more now.”
“I don’t blame you.”
“Will you be okay here? How you will get home?”
“I’ll get a lift in one of the patrol cars. And don’t worry about work tomorrow if your session runs on. Just call me when you’re done and let me know how things went.”
"I will," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. There was a momentary pause as she hesitated, her gaze dropping to the ground before she finally mustered the courage to ask. “Drake… would you mind… can I get a hug?”
Her question hung in the air, unexpected and uncharacteristic, leaving me momentarily taken aback. I blinked, registering her request before managing a gentle, "Of course, Knight."
As she stepped forward, I opened my arms and she leaned in, wrapping her arms around me. I could feel the tension in her body as she pressed herself against me, seeking solace. I returned her embrace, my arms encircling her, offering a silent reassurance that I was there for her. Like me, Knight had no family to speak of. Except for her father, but he might as well be dead given his condition. I knew how hard it was dealing with the loneliness, having no one to lean on but yourself. It took its toll.
Eventually, Knight pulled away, a sheepish smile playing on her lips as she broke the silence. “Tough day,” she murmured, her blue eyes holding a certain vulnerability that tugged at my heartstrings a little.
“I know," I responded, offering her a comforting smile, "But you held up well, Knight. We took another monster off the board.”
Her smile turned bittersweet as she nodded. “Yeah, we did,” she echoed, her tone laced with relief, but also with a hint of sorrow. I could sense the unspoken understanding in her words, the one that stated there was always a price to pay.
And this victory, like all the others before, had indeed come at a cost.
Not long after, Routman pulled up, leading a procession of vehicles trailing in his wake—an assortment of cars and vans brimming with uniformed officers, crime scene technicians, and a collection of suit-wearing men I didn't recognize. The unknown contingent disembarked from their sleek, black vans, some donning hazmat suits before venturing into the manor's depths.
"What the hell’s going on?” I asked Routman, while we leaned against the SWAT van, savoring our cigarettes. "Who are these guys?”
Before Routman had the chance to respond, a commanding black man in his fifties closed in, extending a sturdy handshake in my direction. "Darnell Washington," he introduced himself, a practiced smile gracing his lips, though his eyes hinted at a cold determination. "Director of Research and Development at Emerson Pharmaceuticals. A delight to finally meet you, Mr. Drake." His voice was a velvety purr of control and confidence, suggesting a well-disguised edge beneath the pleasant exterior.
"And why exactly are you here?" I questioned, disregarding his proffered handshake, which he calmly retracted while maintaining his amiable demeanor.
"Ezekiel Cross was once an esteemed member of our scientific team," Washington disclosed. "His contributions significantly boosted our profits."
"Ah, so you're here to rummage through his remains for any potentially profitable secrets."
Washington simply shrugged. "When Cross departed our company, he absconded with invaluable research. Research that rightfully belongs to us. We're merely here to reclaim what's ours."
"And you couldn't have handled this when he was alive?"
"We attempted. However, those we dispatched to Cross were never seen again."
My gaze flickered to Routman, his face flushed with subtle guilt over leading these corporate vultures to Cross's lair. I turned back to Washington, my tone biting. "So you sat back, letting us clear the path for you."
"Upon receiving news of your impending arrest of Cross, we saw an opportune moment to act, yes. Might I ask where Cross is currently?"
"Deceased."
"Unfortunate," he responded, a flicker of disappointment barely visible beneath his unflappable demeanor.
"At least you can now freely pilfer his research," I said, my voice bitter. "I regret not burning this house down."
"Drake," Routman warned, his voice laced with concern.
"Find anything of interest in there?" Washington redirected, ignoring Routman's interjection.
"Your definition of 'interesting' may differ from mine," I retorted.
Washington's smile remained in place, his eyes glinting with anticipation. "We'll soon see, won't we?"
"I suspect so." As Washington turned to leave, I added, “Inform your men about a concealed door in the library. It reveals a staircase leading to Cross's laboratory."
"Much appreciated," he said, not missing a beat.
"Just doing my job," I replied, my tone drenched in insincere cheerfulness.
Routman regarded me with a suspicious look. "What's your game, Drake?"
"Absolutely nothing, Jim," I returned, feigning innocence. "Just extending a helping hand."
Let’s see how many of them make it out this time.
“What the fuck were you thinking bringing those guys here?” I asked Routman.
“It’s not like I had a choice, Drake,” Routman snapped back. “The fucking commissioner himself phoned me and asked me to escort them here.”
“Jesus, the commissioner?” There was note of disgust in my voice. “I wonder how much they’re paying him. Or is it you they’re paying, Jim?”
Routman's gaze hardened, searing into me. "To hell with you, Drake. You honestly believe I'd take a dime from those heartless leeches?"
My own gaze locked with his, a silent battleground of unspoken tensions.
“Fuck you,” he said, a bitter anger flaring in his eyes.
With a nonchalant shrug, I dismissed it. “Fuck them,” I said, feigning indifference. "They're about to receive more than they ever bargained for in there anyway.”
"What? What the hell does that mean, Drake?”
I offered no answer, turning my back to him. With the echo of Routman's interrogative cries trailing behind me, I strode away into the looming night. The gravel crunched beneath my boots, my solitary figure illuminated by the glaring headlights of a waiting patrol car. With a final glance over my shoulder, I opened the door of the patrol car, the ominous creak a fitting punctuation to the unsettling night. Then, enveloped in the dark comfort of the vehicle, the officer behind the wheel drove away, leaving behind the spectral silhouette of Cross's manor house and a bewildered Jim Routman.
Later, when I got home, I grabbed a six pack of beer from the fridge and sat in the Secret Garden, perched on the bench facing Cal and Daisy’s gravestones. The night was calm and serene, the mild chill of early spring adding a certain crispness to the air. The moon, a sliver away from being full, bathed the garden in an ethereal glow, casting long, soft-edged shadows that danced in tune with the whispers of the nocturnal breeze.
Under the celestial light, Cal and Daisy's gravestones stood unwavering, emanating an ethereal serenity. The silvery luminescence danced upon their inscriptions, serving as a silent homage to the lives they once lived.
Soon, my mind turned to Vito Giordano, which was the whole reason I went outside in the first place. I had to come up with a plan to take Giordano down. I hadn’t seen Hannah since she was last in my bed, so I still wasn’t sure if I had her support, or the support of the Elohim under her command. So as I drank my way through the six-pack, smoking numerous cigarettes, I formulated a plan of attack that I hoped would result in Giordano’s death. The plan involved using the ink flowing under my skin, a resource as untamed and unpredictable as the stormy sea. It was a plan borne out of desperation and perhaps insanity, a veritable Hail Mary in a situation where all traditional means of attack seemed doomed to fail.
The ink was both a boon and a bane. Unleashing its raw, chaotic power, especially against someone as formidable as Giordano, was akin to walking on a knife's edge. I could control it to an extent, channel it through my will, but the outcome was always uncertain. It was like trying to tame a wild beast, and I could never be sure if it would obey my commands, or turn around and consume me whole.
To use it in such a high-stakes situation was a monumental risk. I was as likely to be devoured by my own weapon as I was to strike a fatal blow against Giordano. And even if the ink did as I commanded, there was no guarantee that the result would be what I wanted. Every use of the ink was a gamble, a roll of the dice against cosmic forces beyond my understanding.
As I sat there, surrounded by the peaceful serenity of the Secret Garden, I found a strange solace in the uncertainty. With every gulp of beer and drag of the cigarette, I felt an odd sense of clarity wash over me. I didn't have the luxury of time or the guarantee of success. But I had my will, my fearlessness born of decades of experience, and a weapon no one else had. Whether that would be enough, I didn’t know.
But very soon, I was going to find out.
Chapter
Twenty-Five
The evening sky had just darkened when Luna's assault began. A quartet of menacing black SUVs tore into the yard, tires screeching an ungodly cacophony that split the night's silence apart. No sooner had the vehicles skidded to a halt than the doors were flung open, and Luna's enforcers descended upon the quiet haven like a pack of wolves, their weapons barking fire and death.
A hailstorm of bullets pummeled the frail sanctuary of the trailer, their metallic sting punctuating the air as shards of glass and choking dust exploded into the confined space. Kendra and I, helpless amidst the onslaught, hunkered down on the trailer floor and waited for the shooting to stop.
Once the thunderous symphony of gunfire ceased, Luna's voice sliced through the smoky aftermath. “We know you’re in there. Surrender now and you’ll be spared. Resist, and this tin can becomes your tomb!”
Dusting ourselves off, Kendra and I locked gazes. With a mutual nod, we stepped out into the open, our hands held high in a show of surrender. The cold night air barely had time to hit our faces before we were swarmed by Luna's pack, thrown to the grimy earth, our wrists bound in biting zip ties. Our bodies were hauled unceremoniously into separate SUVs.
And just like that, we were spirited away, the roar of the engines filling the night as we headed across the river to the lion's den—Vito Giordano's sanctum, a pyramid looming ominously in the distance.
Perched in the front passenger seat of the SUV, Luna was a portrait of tension. Every now and then, she would swivel around, her sky-blue eyes meeting mine for a brief moment. Those eyes, usually so sharp and determined, were clouded with a mix of fear and resolution, silently communicating the high stakes of our dangerous gambit.
Her gaze was like a guarded secret, shielding the turmoil of her thoughts. I could see the flicker of doubt dance across her irises—a worry that this grand deception, this deadly ruse, might not go as planned. Yet within those same depths, there was also a glimmer of resolve, an ironclad determination that mirrored my own.
Our unspoken communication was swift and silent. Each glance was a question, a reassurance, a pledge. Will we succeed? Can we pull this off? This is for Kendra, for justice, we will see it through.
Surrounded by the intimidating mass of Luna's enforcers, their muscle-bound bodies serving as human shackles, I felt a feeling of uncertainty creep into me. Luna was a formidable ally, but I couldn't shake off the nagging thought—what if she wavered at the last moment? What if Giordano’s influence over her proved too strong?
Her gaze locked onto mine one last time before we reached our destination, a cold whisper of unease coiling in my stomach as we neared the pyramid. Luna was our wildcard, a necessary risk, a potential weakness. Her loyalties, her resolve, her very soul would be tested in the heart of the beast's lair. As the lights of Giordano's sanctum came into view, I steeled myself for the battle to come, still unsure if Luna would prove to be our secret weapon or our undoing.
Driving past the frenzy of the pyramid’s casino frontage, our convoy smoothly transitioned onto a secluded path, shrouded from public view by a well-planned blend of shadow and architectural ingenuity. This less ostentatious route, reserved for trusted associates and important visitors, led us to a covert entrance at the rear of the pyramid.
The vehicles came to a gentle halt, their headlights bathing the unassuming door in stark white light. The sudden quiet was jarring after the rumble of engines, the only sound the crunch of tires on the gravel driveway. One by one, we stepped out of the vehicles, our footfalls seeming to echo in the comparative stillness.
Luna, maintaining her authoritative persona, took the lead. The armed men guarding the entrance stepped aside for her without question, their cold eyes raking over the rest of us with veiled suspicion. More enforcers emerged from the shadows, swarming around Kendra and me, ensuring our compliance with their silent, imposing presence. Together, we moved through the concealed door, crossing the threshold into the bowels of Giordano's personal sanctum.
Escorted by Luna and her guards, we were led through winding corridors adorned with hieroglyphs that seemed to dance in the flickering torchlight. The imagery was vibrant and profound, depicting tales of deities, pharaohs, and myths in vivid pigments. Sphinxes and statues of Anubis, their onyx eyes gleaming with an inscrutable gaze, flanked our path, imbuing an air of solemn reverence that weighed heavily in the silence.
Christ, I thought as I gazed around, Giordano has really gone all in with this Egyptian shit.
The further we delved into the sanctum, the more it felt like we were descending into the underworld, the tomb-like ambiance in the air growing more pronounced with each step. Yet, paradoxically, we were ascending, each step taking us closer to the peak of the pyramid and the heart of Giordano's realm.
The architecture evolved subtly as we ascended, mirroring our ascent from the mortal realm to the divine. The dimly lit corridors expanded into vast, cavernous halls, their towering ceilings lost in shadow. Colossal statues of gods and pharaohs towered over us, their silent visages watching our procession with an immutable stillness that breathed an air of palpable anticipation into the cold stones.
Finally, we emerged onto a grand platform at the summit of the pyramid. Stepping into Giordano's inner sanctum felt like walking into another realm. The air held a palpable thickness to it, as if we were intruding on ancient, undisturbed space. The scent that filled my nostrils was a strange mix of rich, aged leather, the musk of parchment, and a deep undertone of sandalwood. It was a smell that seemed to echo the ages, imbued with a sense of quiet yet profound power.
The sanctum stretched out before us, a grand expanse filled with majesty and a hint of the supernatural. Lofty, vaulted ceilings arched overhead, inlaid with intricate hieroglyphics and celestial scenes painted in vibrant gold and cobalt hues. Hieroglyph-covered pillars flanked the vast space, creating a path toward the center where a large stone dais stood.
Lining the walls, a myriad of statues stood guard, their stony gazes both majestic and eerie. They were carved into the likeness of various Egyptian gods—Osiris, Isis, Anubis, Thoth, each one meticulously detailed, seeming to come alive under the flicker of the sconce torchlight. The play of shadows cast by their unyielding forms brought an aura of mystery to the room, a surreal reminder of the fusion of ancient tradition and contemporary power.
The enforcers moved with an air of reverent fear, removing the zip ties from our wrists with swift professionalism. They exited silently, leaving only Luna behind. Her gaze swept over the sanctum with a mix of familiarity and dread. The silence in the wake of the enforcers’ departure seemed to echo in the cavernous room, a haunting reminder of the task that lay before us. The chamber hummed with dormant energy, the anticipation of the upcoming confrontation almost tangible. The sanctum of Giordano was ready for the final act, or so it felt.
Standing there, Kendra and I exchanged glances and nodded at each other. I saw little in the way of fear in Kendra’s eyes. This was the moment she’d been dreaming about for so long now. The moment when she could finally have her revenge on the man who killed her family. Waiting, I felt the ink beneath my skin roil and surge like a dark tide, reacting to the palpable anticipation in the air. It coursed through my veins, a living, sentient river of pitch and power, winding its way around my heart, threading through my muscles and sinews.
