#8 Cloaked in darkness

A sequence of corroded chains grasped Emmet’s wrists. His flesh was raw and was almost worn away to the bone.  He winced every time he drew breath, a sheet of cold sweat covered his dirty and naked body and dark blood was caked on his skin.

The stone cell smelt of decay, stale sweat and urine. The walls were covered in filth, cobwebs hung in the corners and rats scuttled through the holes in the stone or through the bars of the cell’s bars. There were no windows and nothing on the floor to protect Emmet’s kidneys from the draft.

Abbadon stood above him. His dark hair was slicked back with grease so that his devilishly gold eyes were on full show. His face had no wrinkles, not even as he smiled and his cheeks only showed the slightest hint of boyish dimples. His skin was white as porcelain, his teeth a dull yellow, his cheek bones were gaunt and firmly structured and his eye’s sunk into his sockets. An oak cane was held in one of his leather glad hands and he held his head high with confidence and grace. As he strode soundlessly across the stone, his crimson, velvet trench billowed behind him.

Emmet cowered against the wall. He struggled to bring his knees up under his chin. The fiends movement was slow and lingering, his lips were pulled into a grin and his eyes watched him like a cat watching a mouse.

“O’Malley.In the flesh. At last we meet again.”  Abaddons voice was deep and had a heavy London accent.

“What….do you want with me?” Emmet replied.

Abaddon chuckled, “You’re so full of anger. Unrequited rage .And so young.” He swung his cane as he stepped forward, “You are valuable to us O’Malley and we are so very lucky that we found someone with such potential.”

He lifted Emmet’s chin as if to be prospecting rocks at a mine, and then turned his face away in slight satisfaction. A nugget found in the mess… no doubt.

“O’Malley, you are our doorway to freedom, our window to power over the angels.”

“A-Angels?”

“The guardians of the ‘promised land’ my dear boy.”   He patted Emmet’s mop of sandy brown hair, “They won’t even see it coming.”

Abbadon stood up to his full height positioned the tip of the cane above Emmet’s heart and smiled wickedly.

“Things are about to get interesting.”

His greased hair was blown forward as a strong gust blew through the open cell door, bringing with it smothering darkness. Emmet gasped as the cane was removed from his chest, he wanted to tighten the grip he had on his knees, bringing them closer to his face, but the terror stopped him. He held his breath.

 It felt as if his heart had stopped beating, the blood floating idly in his veins unmoving because, it too, was chilled. The temperature had dropped below zero, Emmet’s teeth were chattering and the hairs on his arms stood on end.

The sound of scratching echoed from the doorway, the rusted hinges of the door screeched and screamed. Abbadon fidgeted inside, what Emmet could only assume, was his coat, something clicked and light filled the room. The flame of the chrome Zippo lighter danced and swayed, creating eerie shadows against the soiled stone walls. The sadistic grin on Abbadon’s face seemed even more sinister in the limited glow of light and his eyes were nothing more than dark holes, almost like sockets, underneath his ruffled fringe.

The scratching intensified, and Emmet could just make out a shadow edging through the cell doorway.

“Emmet. Meet Revenant.” An emaciated and festering corpse struggled towards them, its body was charred, it’s face unrecognizable and it’s left arm was melted into its ribcage. It swayed from side to side with each step that it took. Abbadon stepped out of its way, “He’s very hungry.”

Before Emmet could manage a scream, Revenant was on top of him, ripping at his skin with its broken finger nails and producing muffled moans from its throat. The smell of years of decaying and carbonized flesh filled Emmets nostrils and he turned his head away, desperate to stop himself from vomiting. He wanted to keep his last thread of dignity.

As Emmet fought of the animated and violent carcass, Abbadon backed out of the cell, laughing and grinning.

“Don’t keep him up too late Emmet.”

The cell door slammed shut.

                                                                                   *******

Running his finger tips lightly along the cloth on his forehead was enough to keep Joel from sitting up. He closed his eyes and pulled his lips into an agonized snarl. Shifting his position caused an explosion of pain in his groin; he was forced to lie on his back with his retinas exposed to the bright light.

He laid his hands gently on his chest, caressing the rough bandages wrapped around his abdomen. The adrenaline had long since left his veins and he was feeling drained and weak. His ears were buzzing; like the low hum of bees. Every sound was muffled as if far away.

“Joel?”Even through the haze he knew it was his father’s voice.

John knelt beside the couch. He put his fingers around Joel’s wrist and checked the time on his own watch. Counting the amount of beats in a minute, no doubt.

“Your heart rates almost back to normal, my boy. You did a good job.” He stroked his son’s hair, “I’m proud of you.”

A weak smile crept onto Joel’s face. He didn’t want to risk trying to speak, his throat felt much too painful; it was probably bruised. No matter, he wanted to know where his father had whisked Emmet off to, was he alright and had they caught it in time. If they hadn’t, well, there was really nothing they could do anymore.

He wasn’t ready to condemn his friend to hell just yet.

John sat up onto the oak coffee table, leaned his elbows on his knees and looked at his son through weary eyes. He sighed, opening and closing his mouth three or four times, trying to get the right word before he finally spoke.

“We put him in the bathroom and locked the door. He was restless for a while but there’s been no activity for about fifteen minutes now.” He ran a hand through his thinning hair, “Son, Emmet’s struggling to keep Abbadon dormant an its very likely that, if we don’t get this miracle from Near soon, we could be in shit.” John sighed, “I don’t understand it. He was showing no real signs of demonic possession. Nothing overly obvious.”  

No one wanted to hear it, least of all Joel. In the year that Emmet had went missing, Joel had done everything in his power to try and find him, even after four months had passed and everyone had given up, Joel was still out there after school putting up missing posters and looking for information. He never gave up because he knew that Emmet would never give up on him. Now, he was clueless.

“We’ll do what we can son. But I think you should know; it’s not looking good.”

                                                                                               *********

A smothered noise, not unlike the wail of a distressed cat, rumbled in Emmet’s throat. He drew a deep breath and fisted his hands in his hair. Slowly, he stumbled forward across the floor. The sound of his panicked breathing and shuffling feet echoed off the bathroom walls. His muted cries were amplified around him. He finally felt his body hit the side of the marble sink; he released the strands of hair and glared deep into the mirror at his own sickly reflection. Angrily, he wiped away the tears that were burning his vision and his eyes began to focus.

Emmet stared at the young man in the mirror. His skin was a greenish shade of marble and even in the darkness of the small room, he could clearly see the gaunt and hollowed features of his face; this boy could not possibly be him.

The sclera was a yellowish colour, the iris’ were a dull scarlet and there appeared to be a cloudily film over the eyes. Emmet gently ran his fingers over the skin surrounding the organ; he traced the shape of the socket and the eye lid. The boy in the mirror did the same. Emmet felt the hackles rise on the back of his neck.

He leaned closer to the mirror, pushing his body so far forward his nose almost touched the glass. The foreign stare from his eyes was awkward and uninviting; as if he was staring at a stranger and not himself.

He felt a surge of anger grip his chest, the blood pumped fiercely from his heart and his muscles tensed. Without thinking, he pounded his fist into the delicate material. It shattered and fell to the floor in pieces.

He ignored the agony in his twisted and blooded knuckles.

He dropped to his knees, gripped a large shard of the mirror in one hand and clambered across the floor. Blood was dripping in small puddles from the palm of his hands but on he crawled. He gripped both hands onto the porcelain side of the bathtub, pulled himself slowly up and climbed into its depths. The glass was left, stained with crimson, on the bathroom tiles.

He sat in an uneasy position, his knees drawn up to his face, his arms wrapped around his legs; he rocked from side to side. His ribs rattled with every beat of his heart and he was breathing in sharply.

The smell was over whelming and he was sent into a frenzy of dry heaves. Revenant was already snapping at his throat, trying to get hold of the muscular skin and rip open the luscious arteries. Its head appeared swollen and blooded, its skull convulsed violently as it opened and closed its mouth.

He squeezed his eyes shut and gripped his hair. In frustration he pounded his fist against the wall, cracking the white tiles and shards of plaster fell into the tub. Slowly, he dragged his sharpened nails down the flesh on his face; the wounds started to bleed immediately. Emmet smiled as agony broke through the dull numbness.

As he stared down at the blood staining his hands and his chest, he felt like a weight had lifted from his shoulders. Feeling relaxed and free, Emmet slid further into the tub, his head now resting against the back of the bath and his bare feet wrapped around the taps. He kept his eyes open, focusing on the rail of the blue shower curtain and counting the loops holding the sheet in place. Even as his eye lids struggled to stay open, he forced them because he was afraid. Every time he closed his eyes, vivid and terrifying memories came flooding back; memories he had tried his best to forget.

Water was dripping from the facet, the sound echoed in the silence of the bathroom. As each droplet hit the basin, Emmet clenched his fist tighter until his finger nails pierced the palms of his hands.

Desperation set in and, despite his ankles being practically immobile, he kicked the festering fiend to the other side of the cell. It moaned and screeched as it tried to stand, while he clawed furisoly at the stone, pulling himself up onto his feet. Immediately the pain from his broken calves shot up his thighs, he bit into is lip to keep from screaming and dragged himself as steady as possible to the nearest corner. He fell onto the concrete, breathing heavily and with blood dripping down his chin. Bone fragments had split through the flesh of his ankles, but he was unable to tell the difference between the blood and grime, so the extent of the damage was impossible to know. The corpse was back on its feet and quickly closing the distance between them. Emmets heart started to beat faster, adrenaline pumping through his veins and he, painfully, pulled himself into a tight ball. He searched the area around him with his hands, looking for anything remotely sharp or dangerous and he flinched as something caught on his finger. His heart leapt as his hand wrapped around the blade of a rusty straight edge razor.

Emmet bit down on his lip, squeezed his eyes shut and gripped his forehead. He pulled at the hair on his head and issued a muffled scream from his lungs. His sharp incisors broke through the skin on his lip; blood filled his mouth and ran down his chin. The scratches on his face burned. But it wasn’t enough to drive the nightmares away.

With a few skilled flicks of Emmets wrist, the razor sliced through the festered neck of the monster. It fell with a agonized wail to the stone floor. Sighing with relief, Emmet rocked back into a comfortable sitting position. His heart was beating so hard he felt it may break out of chest and he struggled to catch his breath. The sound of approaching footsteps sent him into a blind panic and he curled himself into a tight ball. It was Abbadon, no doubt ; who else had such a confident and powerful stride, with but a hint of grace. The demon strode into the room, from the light of his torch, his expression seemed vile. His lips were curled into a wicked smile, his eyes narrowed and gleaming with mischief. He glided toward’s Emmet.

“I knew you were my gem. Such strength, even with the agony of broken bones. Fascinating.” the excitement in the demons voice was like that of a childs on Christmas; a disturbing and sick child.

“Yes.” He continued, “You shall be my vessel. Harbour part of my soul. So that I may roam free amongst the living. Corrupting and destroying as I go.”

He sat up right and laid his arms out in front. His heart pounded in his chest, buzzing with excitement. He raised his left hand into the air and presented his right forearm. With one deep breath he began to slash open the flesh. He growled low in his throat.When there was no more flesh to destroy, he moved to his thorax, mutilating his chest and stomach. Leaving deep slashes in his wake.

 He leant his head back against the tub when his frenzy had subsided and sighed. Beautiful shards of pleasure was all he could feel, the pain was so wonderful. Like a drug. Slowly he raised his tattered arm above his head and in one swift movement, he slit open the artery.