Incubi

“It did a job on Khoronos’ head.”

Jack laughed. “Some forensics expert you are. It wasn’t a.38, it was a.455 metal jacket. Most gunshops don’t even carry them anymore; the rangemaster loads them for me special.”

“You’re pulling my leg,” Jan Beck said. “A.455?”

“That’s right. I fired it out of an old Webley.”

Now it was Jan Beck’s turn to laugh. “Then you missed. The bullet I pulled out of Khoronos’ head was a.38 semijacketed wadcutter. I figured you shot it out of that little Smith snub of yours.”

Randy was frowning. “Jack didn’t shoot Khoronos.”

“Sure I did,” Jack said.

“Don’t you remember? After I tagged your location with the duty programmer, I brought a bunch of uniforms out to Khoronos’ house. Stewie went with us. When he and I were searching the upstairs, he picked up your.38 snub in that room with all the broken glass. Then we found the door that led to the basement.”

Now Jack was thoroughly confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Stewie shot Khoronos,” Randy informed him. “Not you. He shot him with your.38.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. I was standing right next to him.”

* * *

Jack didn’t see what difference it made. Nonetheless, it bothered him. He expressly remembered dropping the Webley’s hammer and seeing Khoronos go down. When he went home for lunch, he called Stewie’s office but his receptionist said he wasn’t in. Then he went upstairs and looked at his guns. He hadn’t cleaned them yet. He opened the Webley’s receiver; the round over the barrel port would be the one he’d shot at Khoronos. He took the round out and saw that the percussion cap was dented, which meant that the firing pin had been struck. But the big round-nosed bullet was still implanted in the casing.

A dud, Jack realized. This happened sometimes, especially with odd reloads. A bad primer wouldn’t ignite the powder. Goddamn thing never went off, he thought.

Next, he opened the Smith snub, the gun Randy claimed that Stewie had picked up in the mirrored room. Jack hadn’t fired it that night, so it should have five unspent cartridges in the cylinder. But there were only four; the casing over the barrel port was discharged, empty.

How do you like that? he thought. It was Stewie who shot Khoronos.

Faye’s briefcase sat open on the kitchen table, full of all the research she’d done on the aorists. A yellow legal pad had been top-marked Synod. Apparently she’d transcribed some text by hand, for the pad was lined with her script.

Jack didn’t bother reading any of it. Why should he? The case was closed. The last line, however, read: He who shall slay the Prelate shall become the Prelate.

* * *

“Cash or charge, sir?”

“Cash,” Stewie said. He had plenty of that now, and he always would. He bestows treasure upon the faithful, he mused. Los Angeles seemed perfect. Lots of artists, lots of creative women. Initiating two new surrogoti would be easy. An artsy town like that? Piece of cake, he concluded.

“Aisle or window?” inquired the girl at the ticket counter.

“Window, please.”

“Name?”

“Pardon me?”

“Your name, sir? For your boarding pass.”

“Oh yes, of course. Khoronos. Stewart Khoronos.”

The flight was quiet, comfortable. Stewie particularly liked the window seat. He looked out the tiny window, gazing in awe upon the world which awaited him.

He pressed his hand to the glass and whispered this:

“Aorista.”

Edward Lee

Edward Lee has had more than 40 books published in the horror and suspense field, including CITY INFERNAL, THE GOLEM, and BLACK TRAIN. His movie, HEADER was released on DVD by Synapse Films, in June, 2009. Recent releases include the stories, “You Are My Everything” and “The Cyesologniac,” the Lovecraftian novella “Trolley No. 1852,” and the hardcore novel HAUNTER OF THE THRESHOLD. Currently, Lee is working on HEADER 3. Lee lives on Florida’s St. Pete Beach. Visit him online at: Edwardleeonline.com