dmc Chapter 188: Took a Dive (Patreon)

Arthur frowned.

Years of the work had given him a nose for people. The white-haired kid carried himself like the room already belonged to him. That kind of calm usually meant either real power or a short life.

The problem was Arthur had never seen him throw a punch. Against something with demon in it, empty hands were a stupid way to find out.

The registered exorcists who used to come through the old office never walked into a job like this alone. Holy water. Silver rounds. Half the time garlic, a green onion, and a cheap crucifix for luck—and even then they went in as a team.

He let the breath out.

“Call the locals. Get two tactical teams on the perimeter in case—”

Soren’s voice came through the earpiece, flat as a closed door.

“It’s handled.”

Arthur and Ange looked at each other. Both of them eased.

Liz’s smirk locked in place. She set the phone down, mouthed something ugly, and muttered, “Luck. I could’ve done it.”

—

In the hospital corridor Soren toed the body on the tile.

It didn’t move.

“Took a dive?”

The punch hadn’t even landed. The thing had yanked itself back into Emily’s skull on its own. Split muscle sealed. Raw tissue knitted. All that was left on the back of her head was a closed seam, like a mouth that had decided to stop talking.

He looked at the ordinary nape of her neck and snorted.

“Pulled into its shell.”

Arthur’s voice returned in the earpiece.

“Mr. Soren. Target’s contained. Bring her in.”

“Not yet.”

Soren hooked Emily under the arm—she was out cold—and turned toward the dark end of the hall.

“This place is Armitage property. I’m going downstairs. Might be something worth finding.”

Arthur started talking him out of it. Soren walked anyway.

—

Sublevel two sat heavier than the floors above it. The air hadn’t moved in years. The smell had.

Fresh prints tracked the dust. Soren noted them and kept going.

A long corridor. Iron-barred cells on both sides. Each cell held an operating table with restraint straps still buckled to the frame. The tables had rusted through. The sheets had rotted to strips. Black stains covered the floor in old, wide fans.

Farther in, a rectangular hall. Iron tables in neat rows. Shackles and implements hung on the walls in sets. Bolted interrogation chairs sat underneath them in a line.

Iron doors faced each other on the long walls.

Soren pulled one open.

Salt wind hit him. No rooms beyond the threshold. The drop went straight to black water. Waves hammered the rocks below. Gulls worked the surface like nothing down there had ever mattered.

He stood in the doorway and saw the rest of it without trying. Kids. Patients. Anyone who stopped being useful. Out this hatch and into the current. No incinerator. No paperwork. Sharks did the filing.

“Come out.”

He didn’t turn. He watched the water.

“Soren? Who are you talking to?”

Arthur, in the earpiece, puzzled.

Soren shut the door and walked toward the iron table in the corner.

“Don’t—don’t hit me! It’s me!”

A blonde in a pink knit sweater eased her head up from behind the table, both hands raised. File folders were crushed in her fingers. She worked very hard at looking harmless.

Sydney Lake.

After the thing wearing her sister had gone out the attic wall, she had wanted a story that still made sense. Their mother had finally said the word adopted. That trail had led here. She had barely made it into the basement when the noise started upstairs. After that she had stayed put and hoped whoever it was would leave.

Soren glanced at the folders.

“You came to clear your sister.”

Sydney nodded hard.

Then she saw Emily hanging off his arm and the color left her face.

Soren dumped the body in front of her.

“She’s back. The thing living in her head tucked itself in. For now.”

Sydney swallowed, crept closer, and put her fingers on the back of Emily’s skull. A few seconds. Then the breath left her.

She looked up.

“Thank you.”

Charlie cut across the line, tight and fast.

“Soren. Get out. Now.”

Keys hammered in the background.

“I’ve got unmarked black SUVs on every camera between the highway and you. Five minutes, maybe less.”

A beat.

“And—” His voice snagged. “I pulled faces off the traffic cams. They’re not people. Not all the way. Features on the skin, the jaw, the eyes—human and demon in the same body.”

Stills hit Soren’s phone a second later. Blurry, but enough.

In the house, Arthur and Ange leaned into the monitors. Neither of them liked what they saw.

Liz grabbed the mic.

“Stop sightseeing and find a hole! I told you to leave when you had the chance!”

“They’re after the specimen,” Charlie said, already building an exit. “Emily. If you can’t clear the building, drop her and hide. Place is a maze. They won’t comb it if they’ve got the bait. I’ll wipe every camera you touched on the way in. Nobody tracks you out.”

Advice stacked up in Soren’s ear. He looked at the stills instead. The hybrid marks on the faces in the cars.

“Don’t need any of that.”

He left Sydney where she was and walked out of the basement.

“Are you out of your mind?!”

Liz nearly came out of the chair.

She spun on Arthur.

“Let me go. I can hold the fire. Those things aren’t a problem. I’ll pull him out.”

Arthur didn’t move.

Liz set her jaw.

“Director. Rodin sent him. If he dies on our watch we don’t have an answer for that man.”

That one landed. Arthur’s mouth opened on the yes.

Charlie beat him to it.

“Buy groceries,” he said. “Start the victory dinner.”

The panic was gone. What replaced it was a kid watching a screen he couldn’t look away from.

He blew the main feed up without being asked.

Arthur, Ange, and Liz turned.

Whatever was happening in the lot in front of the hospital pulled their faces tight.