Chapter 7 – Men in Black
The following morning, Mr. Davidson was quite pleased to hear that Jacob would be going out early again. He was less pleased when Daniel, who was now a registered candidate for Normal’s special mayoral election, told him he was going out to make campaign posters and signs with an old college buddy. Mr. Davidson did not stop the man, however, and so his eldest son again accompanied his youngest down the elevator, although this time to the complex’s parking floors. Jacob and Daniel walked to where the former’s car was supposed to be parked, only to find it wasn’t there.
Jacob cursed. “I forgot that I left it back at McArthur Mansion. That’s a long way out of my way; it’s not even in the damn devil’s trap.”
Daniel, now dressed in a red striped American Eagle shirt and khakis, his ponytail laid straight down his back, shrugged. “You want me to bring it back here?” he offered. “I can just send ol’ Barry a text saying I’m running an errand for ya real quick. He’s cool; he’ll understand. Then you can go get started on heading to your meeting place in the meantime.”
That was a huge help. “Thanks, Daniel,” Jacob said sincerely. His older brother clapped a hand on his shoulder, grinning widely.
“Don’t sweat it, my man.”
Daniel went to grab a bike so he could get to McArthur Mansion as quickly as possible without leaving another vehicle behind, and Jacob left for Normal City Park. It was a rather conspicuous place for a skeleton to be walking and training a sort-of-living corpse in the supernatural, but Agent Mann had assured him over the phone the previous night that glamours would stop the public from seeing Mann for who he really was.
“I’ll look like a kindly, handsome coach to any curious eyes,” he’d said in that smooth British accent of his. “Probably.”
“Probably?” Jacob had been skeptical.
“Well, you can never be too safe around the weaker magics, especially ones that you didn’t cast yourself. And since I unfortunately was no Harry Potter in life, I have to get rents from the resident witch in the agency. She is not my biggest fan. Also, dogs.”
He’d added that last part so quickly, Jacob had almost missed it. “…What?”
“Dogs are not confused by any glamours, and love bones,” he’d explained. The shudder in his voice had been practically audible. “This park will be crawling with them. Honestly, the only reason I’m going to be training you there is because it’s the only open space in the devil’s trap big enough to do it properly.”
Jacob still snickered at the memory of their conversation even now, as he dashed down cement sidewalks bathed in sunlight. It was unusually effortless to do so; he didn’t even work up a sweat. He was amazed by how much his stamina had increased now that his heart couldn’t threaten to beat out of his chest from the exertion. He was also running much faster than the other runners on the sidewalk. The teen revenant wondered if, one day, he could match the speeds of the cars beside him.
As Jacob ran beside the road that made up the top of the devil’s trap’s outer circle, the rising sun felt comforting and warm against the back of his neck. He breathed in the cool, humid air lifting off of the Red River happily. When he had reached the y-axis of the road, where the Lesser Erie River split into the Red and Beaver, he turned right onto Jones Avenue—which, like the Lesser Erie above it, split into East and West Jones Avenues. These roads completed the upper point of the star in the devil’s trap, and helped create three sectors of the city. Jacob, however, only cared about the sector laying between both Avenues, where Normal City Park could be found.
Here he arrived five minutes later, clocking in the total time of his trip at around twenty minutes. Still breathing as easily as if he’d never ran at all, Jacob entered the dirt path that wound over a wooden archway. The words NORMAL CITY PARK stared down at him, written in the color of chalkboards. Thick, short bushes hugged the path, and further down, some kids cheerfully jumped back and forth over them while their mother watched with a disapproving frown. Here and there, large oak trees, their many branches reaching out like long and spindly fingers, towered over impressively green grass—kings usurped from their natural thrones by skyscrapers that encroached upon the park’s contours.
Pedestrians were everywhere. Bikers tore down the paths laid throughout the expansive, diamond-shaped preserve. Families sat at wooden picnic tables, eating sandwiches; kids clambered as high as they could up trees; lovers sat on benches facing the fishing and swimming pond. Jacob’s eyes ignored any normal humans—he only wanted to see a Mann about a skeleton.
“Looking for someone?” a voice said from behind him, and Jacob yelped and turned on a dime. Agent Skul Mann’s grinning skull was there, his clothes the same as when Jacob had last seen him.
“Was that really necessary?” Jacob grumbled over the skeleton’s chuckles.
“No,” Mann admitted, “but I’m a jerk with teleportation. Therefore, your argument is invalid.”
“…Fair point.”
“I am a master at the pranking business, in case you were wondering.”
Jacob wasn’t.
As a group of bikers raced by and rang bells on the front of their handles, Agent Mann clapped, grinning even wider. The sound was rather rattley thanks to his hands being nothing but bones. “Right then. Top of the morning to you, my dear boy. I’ve already contacted the FBI and told them I’ll be training you as my assistant, as per your decision last night. I asked for permission to stay here in Normal when not on missions in the meantime, and the higher ups agreed, so! You and I should have plenty of time to get started.”
He paused and looked at the slightly cloudy sky, as though daring it to argue. Jacob rose an eyebrow. A second later, though, Mann’s eyeless gaze fell back down to him.
“Murphy seems to be keeping himself in check today,” the other revenant said brightly. “Splendid!”
Jacob blinked. “Er… Murphy?”
“Murphy’s Law, my dear boy,” Agent Mann explained. “Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong, especially when you tempt fate. That… that last part isn’t actually in the Law, it’s just something I’ve noticed on my job.”
“Ah,” said Jacob. “So, yesterday morning, you mentioned me having new powers as a revenant. Can you fully explain this, please?”
“Right.” The fleshless revenant nodded and started walking down the path. Jacob followed at his side. “The main powers we revenants have,” Mann said, “are increased strength, speed, and healing.” Discreetly, Jacob looked down at his right arm and rolled his blue shirt’s long sleeve up. The deep cut from his fight with the jinn the previous night was almost fully closed already, and had scabbed over very soon after he’d left the alley.
Jacob wasn’t quite sure how any of this was possible since he didn’t have a beating heart to pump his blood—or rather, ectoplasm—but he decided not to question it.
He rolled his sleeve back down before Mann could notice. “Do we have other powers?” he asked. “You said those are our main ones.”
“Yes, we do. Just one, though, and you already know about it—we can tap into our soul’s power to teleport. That takes years for even the best non-vengeful revenants to learn, though, so for now we’ll be working on your speed, strength, and overall offensive skills.” Agent Mann paused. “Well, you in particular also have the power known as the Right Hand of God, due to the fact that it can exorcise any supernatural beings but manifests in the right hand.”
He was silent for a few moments. Then Jacob looked up at his new coach with a frown. “So, then do other people also have this Right Hand of God?”
“It’s called the ‘Right Hand’ for short,” Mann said, “but yes, there are a very small amount of people who do use it. A mere seven people are born in each generation able to wield it. Currently, there are sixteen known wielders alive, including you. There may be others, but they just haven’t been found yet.”
“Alright,” Jacob said, studying his powerful hand, “thanks for letting me know.”
“You may have to watch your back, Jacob. Some of these Right Hands are monster hunters, and don’t tend to ask before exorcising. If they find out about you, you may be in serious danger.”
He hadn’t even considered that. Jacob shivered at the thought that he might now be hunted just as he’d hunted ghosts for these past seven years. Suddenly the warm morning didn’t seem so warm. The friendly people visiting the park seemed like any of them could be stalkers, carefully watching Jacob for the right time to strike. Then he blinked as a thought occurred to him—he already knew that death didn’t hurt, that one second you were alive and the next you simply weren’t.
What did he have to be afraid?
As quickly as the sunny summer day had turned cold and foreboding, and the friendly people into possibly conniving stalker/murderers, everything returned to normal in Jacob’s mind’s eye. He stretched and gave his new coach a thumbs-up.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
“I’ll be careful,” he promised.
Agent Mann took a deep breath. “You’d better,” he said quietly.
“Don’t get your bones all rattled,” Jacob said.
“I can’t help it; without muscle, they rattle with each step.”
The two chuckled as they walked. Then they reached a clearing in the bushes and the skeleton revenant turned off onto the grass. A dog in the distance—a little white dog with long, fluffy hair—happened to glance at Agent Mann and started barking and pulling on its leash. Its owner struggled to keep it from dashing off. Jacob shook his head, amused.
“You’re great with dogs, Agent Mann,” he said, and the skeleton groaned. His pristine, white skull went whiter somehow.
“I was really, really hoping this wouldn’t happen,” he moaned in such a terrified manner that Jacob exploded into snickers.
They ignored the furiously yipping dog as best they could, and made their way to the welcoming shade cast by the leaves of one of the park’s oaken kings. There, they rested for a moment, and then Agent Mann reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded-up sheet of computer paper. He unfolded it, and Jacob saw that, on it, a thick, black line of ink separated two columns of text. The column on the left was in red, and at the top, “STRENGTH” had been written in large and bold letters. Likewise, the right side was labeled “SPEED” in blue.
“We’re not going to be training up my Right Hand?” Jacob questioned.
“No, we’re not,” Mann confirmed. “I don’t use the power myself and so have no idea how to train people to use it. Also, without a stronger body and soul, your own power could end up harming you now that you’re supernatural. I want you to use it as little as possible from here on out—for most supernatural creatures, there are other ways to stop them.”
Jacob remembered how using it last night had made his arm feel like it was on fire. “Alright, fair enough.”
Mann handed Jacob the white paper. “Now then,” he said as Jacob took it, “this will be your training regime for the next week or so. At the end of the seven days, we’ll start doing some practice bouts. In the meantime, I’ll be setting things up for you with the Supernatural Relations department. Sound good to you?”
The teen nodded and cracked his knuckles. “Let’s do this!” Jacob exclaimed, bouncing from foot to foot.
“I like your motivation, my boy! Start with the first item under STRENGTH.”
“Yes, sir!”
If people thought it was weird that (from their point of view, anyway) a man dressed like he’d walked out of a British black and white film rode on the shoulders of a black teen while said teen repeatedly punched an oak tree, nobody said anything about it.
~o~
JUST OUTSIDE SAN FRANCISCO
Dead bodies, ectoplasm leaking from their decapitated necks, littered the warehouse on the hill beyond the many multicolored houses and other buildings of San Francisco. A choking silence hung in the air from the gallows of Death, mixing with the dust that kicked up off the cold floor. Crates and rusted machinery hid in the dark shadows from the single figure who strode near the inside of the building’s walls. The figure was swathed in white robes that reached down to his sandaled feet, and in his hands, he clenched a silver sword that—like his right arm—glowed with red light. Green adorned the shoulders of his robes, green like the fronds of palm trees.
His breathing was slow and steady; his footsteps were silent and regal.
He passed by another row of crates, and a woman’s quiet sobs reached his ears. The towering man paused and backed up, peering through the darkness by the light of his right hand.
There, concealed between a small crack in the row, was a woman, the only other living thing still left alive in this abandoned self-storage. She cried and cowered in the darkness. She wore grimey clothes, wrinkled and stained black. Her mouth was slightly open, and her teeth long and pointy, as though designed for piercing flesh. Her skin was unnaturally pale.
The man grunted and lifted up his sword. He stalked forward, scoffing.
His footsteps echoed now, and the woman glanced up fearfully. Her eyes fell upon the man and she pressed herself against the crate behind her. Her breathing picked up and staggered; her hands trembled.
“You killed them,” she sobbed hatefully, baring her teeth. “A-All of them. Even the babies! How c-could you do that!?”
“How?” The man drew up to her and gripped his sword tighter, holding it up with just his right hand. His face was old and set; he had multiple chins, and his nose sloped sharply down like a skating pipe. Dark but greying hair sat on his head in curls. “It’s simple. You’re bloodsuckers—vampires that live for human blood and blood alone. My people will never be safe as long as your kind are here.”
“We swore off human blood years ago,” the vampire hissed, shrinking against the crate. “We haven’t touched the damned stuff in over a decade!”
“It always starts the same,” the monster hunter replied coldly. “The farmers find their cattle and sheep dead, drained of all their blood. Then more. And then the children start to disappear.”
The woman swallowed dry air, then stopped shaking and glared up at him.
“You’re no man, Father Adam. You’re more of a monster than I am.”
Father Adam paused and considered her words. “No,” he told her at last. “I am a priest, and you are an abomination.”
Then he swiped, and in one clean motion, it rolled away into the shadows, disappearing behind more crates. Black liquid oozed thickly from the stump of her neck.
Father Adam scoffed again, reached underneath his robes, and took out a handkerchief. He used it to wipe his sword clean of the vampire’s vile ‘blood.’
“You have no right to call anyone a monster,” he spat, and turned to dispose of the vampire nest’s bodies in the sunlight outside.
~o~
MCARTHUR MANSION
Spokes whirred and pieces of dirt leaped away from quickly pedaling tires. Daniel Davidson’s ponytail bounced in the wind as he powered up the dirt path that led to the site of his little brother’s death, and subsequent transformation into a revenant. He still could hardly believe that whole series of events, but Jacob rarely lied to him and so he had no reason to doubt the poor kid.
Finally, he reached the top of the hill and braked. He looked up at the huge mansion in front of him and stared.
“It’s straight out of a shitty horror film,” Daniel muttered. He swung himself off the bike, landing lightly on the dirt path. Jacob’s car sat several feet away, facing the dilapidated walls and boarded-up windows of the mansion. He laid his bike down gently on the path and crossed onto yellow, half-dead grass.
Daniel drew up to the green Ford and patted its trunk. “Alright, baby, let’s get you home,” he said, and made his way around to the driver’s door. Jacob had left it unlocked with the keys still inside, so it was a simple matter of opening the door and climbing inside. He grabbed the key ring off the seat, sat down, closed the door, fastened his seat belt, and made to stick the key in the ignition, but an unfamiliar voice suddenly came from the backseat.
“Daniel Davidson,” said someone amusedly in a heavy Irish accent, “didn’t you forget your bike?”
Daniel jumped and cursed, then turned around in his seat quickly. A man with a purple shirt and a khaki suit and pants sat in the backseat. His face was round and pudgy, a friendly grin turning up his red lips. But, strangely, his eyes were pure black.
Daniels’s own brown orbs shot open, and he reached into his pocket and pulled out his conceal-and-carry pistol. He pointed it at the black-eyed intruder’s forehead and snarled, “Who the hell are you, and what the hell are you doing in my brother’s car?”
“Who the hell,” the mysterious man mused, his smile not fading in the slightest. “Funny choice of words. Do not worry; I do not wish harm on you. I simply thought you might like to, ah, make a deal.”
“A deal?” Daniel frowned. He didn’t lower his gun, but instead released the safety; something about the intruder gave him the heebie-jeebies. “Who are you? How did you know my name?”
The man snorted in amusement. “My name does not matter. You wouldn’t be able to pronounce it even if I told you, regardless. No, what does matter is that left hand of yours.”
“My… left hand?”
“Asking questions with other questions…” The man sighed and rolled his eyes to the heavens. “Just like a law student to do that. Look at your left hand, Daniel.”
On reflex, the twenty-seven-year-old did so.
And stared.
For some strange reason, his left hand and arm glowed with blue light, but not the periwinkle that Jacob always said ghosts were made of. No, this shade was an evil, deep indigo, so dark it was practically black. Daniel yelped and shook his hand desperately, but the light did not fade. He gulped and glared at the smartly dressed man, whose pudgy face turned up a little with a new smirk.
“What the hell did you do to me!?” Daniel shouted, furious now.
The man again seemed more amused than anything. “I didn’t do anything to you, Daniel Davidson. You’ve always had the Left Hand of Lucifer, from the moment of your birth—it’s only been awakened thanks to my presence. And you see, it is exactly why I am here talking to you.” He considered that statement. “Well, I was actually waiting for your little brother to return after he beat up one of my squadron members to congratulate him for it, but it is a happy accident that you came instead. That left hand of yours can make or break your election to town mayor, Daniel, and I can help with that… if you only accept my little deal.”
Daniel narrowed his eyes. He had no idea what was going on, but that stuff about Jacob beating up one of his squadron members… “You’re a demon,” he spat. “How about instead, you fuck off and stay the hell away from my goddamn family!”
His skin crawling with fear and anger, he pressed the pistol’s trigger.
If clapping in a car hurt one’s ears, a gunshot was deafening. The eldest Davidson brother’s ears rang, and he flinched. When he looked back at the demon, he was shocked to see it had vanished—gone from the backseat. His bullet hadn’t even connected, but was instead lodged in a deep hole in the headrest.
“Shooting people is quite rude, you know,” the demon’s voice said in his ear, and David quickly turned to see it crouched over, sitting on the Ford’s dash and smirking even wider. “Dangerous, even. Do that to someone normal, and you might not like the consequences.”
“What do you want with me!?” he demanded, training his gun on the intruder again.
It chuckled. “Now we’re asking the right questions. I want to train you to help you control your power and grow. In return, I’d like for you to perform some… errands for me. Whaddya say, friend? Want to win?”
Daniel loaded another bullet into his pistol and aimed between its black eyes. “I’ll win on my own terms, demon bastard. Get the fuck out of my brother’s car.”
“Alright, alright, no need to get your panties in a bundle,” the demon soothed, chuckling. It reached into its shirt’s chest pocket and took out some items. “Let’s see… crushed baby’s skull?” It withdrew a corked vial filled with white dust. “Check. Virgin’s blood?” It withdrew another vial, this time filled with a red liquid that definitely looked like blood. “Pfft. Cliché, but check. Coconut shells?” It withdrew the last item—a bag filled with hard pieces of coconut shell. It opened the bag and popped one piece in its mouth. “Delicious; check.”
“Get the fuck out,” Daniel said again, testing the trigger.
The demon rolled its eyes. “I’m getting there, I’m getting there.” And then Daniel’s jaw slackened; after it produced a bowl from nowhere and smashed the vials, their contents flowing into the bowl and congealing, a wall of pure darkness opened up behind it. The undulating shadows pulled the demon in, and it decided to give Daniel some parting advice.
“If you’re ever losing the election and feel like you might need a little help, just shout and I’ll be there,” it promised, grinning a Cheshire grin. “Ain’t it great to know somebody’s got your back? Oh, and by the way, tell your brother about any of this, and I will rip out your carotid and eat it for breakfast. Toodles!”
The demon sank fully into the wall of shadows and darkness. The wall dissipated, and when it had gone, nothing more of the khaki-clad demon remained. Daniel swallowed dryly, then unbuckled and hurried out of the car. He raced to his bike and strapped it on the two bars on the Ford’s roof, then climbed back into the driver’s seat, buckled up again, and stabbed the key into the ignition. The engine roared to life and Daniel performed a very fast three-point turn. He didn’t care how many speed limits he broke—Daniel never wanted to see this place again, and so with a terrible squealing of tires, he raced off down the hill.
His left hand stopped glowing.