The Awakening

Gaby pulled the chain hanging from the low ceiling in the basement. The bare light fixture clicked, but no light came on.

A prickling of unease raised the short hairs on her neck.

She dropped the bag of blood-soaked rags and, using the dim light from the stairs, looked around. Casting thick shadows, the mismatched washer and dryer were to her right, connected to a laundry tub. Piled high with discarded clothes that Morty never wore anymore, a rickety table sat to her left.

A subtle shift in the air assaulted her, and Gaby looked above the table at the small slider window.

Wide open.

Things came together in a snap. How the perpetrator had gotten in with the bucket of blood, and earlier, the dead carcass. Had the person left? Or had he been around when Gaby sent Luther to the butcher?

What if… ?

The pain seized her suddenly, clutching Gaby in a suffocating lock.

It was so severe that it dropped her against the moldy wall with a groan of agony. 'Oh no.' Not here, not now, with Mort only a few feet away. No, it had never happened this way before.

It couldn't happen now.

But she had no means to stop it. What usually crept up on her with adequate warning now struck with blinding trauma. Weakness pervaded and she slid down the wall until her tush connected with the dingy, dank concrete floor.

'Gaby?' Mort called down the stairs.

Go away, she screamed silently, but she knew he wouldn't, and she couldn't find the breath to tell him to.

He slunk down the steps in nervous trepidation. 'Gaby, you still down here?' When he spotted her, he froze on the bottom step. Voice shaking, he asked, 'Hey. What are you doing?'

When she couldn't reply, he hurried to her side. 'Gaby, are you all right?'

'Yeah.' The word emerged as a gasp of agony. Summoning lost reserves, she squeezed her eyes shut and slowly straightened, crawling her way up the wall until she had her feet under. Her stomach burned and her muscles knotted. 'I have to go.'

'What?' Mort fluttered around her as she tested the strength in her legs. 'Gaby, no, you're hurt, or, or something. Let me call an ambulance. Let me…'

At his sudden silence. Gaby got her eyes open. The pain was so strong she could barely see, but she sensed Mort's fear. Fuck. 'Go upstairs, Mort.'

An audible swallow broke the silence. 'What's wrong with you?' he whispered.

She couldn't speak, couldn't explain. Seldom had the calling taken her so viciously. It crippled with its measure of urgency, driving her to haste.

Something was very, very wrong. 'Go to your apartment, Goddamn it!'

He turned and ran up the stairs, leaving Gaby free to do what she must.

She stumbled up behind him, went through the door and outside into the sizzling evening air. Free of Mort's scrutiny, she allowed the summons to guide her down the block toward where Luther had left…

And realization hit her.

Luther.

The moment the thought exploded in her brain, she understood the extreme urgency, the grinding pain.

Luther was in trouble.

Chapter Ten

With a cry of denial at the inevitable, Gaby gave the summons free rein. If someone saw her, fuck it. This was no time for subterfuge, not with Luther at risk.

Strength surged through her body. Her legs took over, racing her through the night, past two drugged whores, a homeless man passed out on the sidewalk. She went between parked cat's, down an alley… and there it was, blinding in its dominance, crawling black and blistering red, popping and crackling.

Through the veiling hues of evil, trouble, and illness, Gaby made out the piles of refuse and the pipe on the ground. She smelled the acrid scent of evil as it raped her nostrils and her brain.

And she saw the large slumped body, partially draped over plastic garbage bags and cardboard boxes. Blood oozed from a head wound. A rat investigated.

She recognized the clothes. Luther. Lying so still and bloody and…

No. Not dead, Gaby silently screamed.

'Not that,' she whimpered.

He groaned, one hand twitching, and so much relief flooded her system that for once, she could see clearly. Even with the auras dancing in frenetic discourse, Gaby knew that she wasn't too late—and that she was being used.

The cardboard box rustled, revealing her target, filling her with glee…

'Gaby?'

She whirled around, and there stood Mort.

Before she could deal with him, he looked beyond her—and fell back in revulsion.

Gaby didn't need to know what he saw. She knew it wouldn't be pretty.

'Go home, Mort.' She couldn't waste time seeing if he obeyed.

She faced the discarnate.

This one stunk of fear and sickness. Naked, it lumbered toward her, giant tumors bulging around the middle, the breasts, and under the throat. The growths pulsed with a life of their own, like a heartbeat, like living masses of sickness.

As old as the other one, but smaller, this evil mewled, stretched its toothless mouth wide, and vociferated in ear-splitting measure.

Closer and closer it got—until, with divine help, Gaby saw what others couldn't.

This being had once been selfish and manipulative enough to poison three husbands to death. Each time she profited from her murders. Each time she took satisfaction in the suffering she caused.

Pure evil. Rank with it. Alive with it.

Rightfully, the torments of hell waged on her cumbersome body in the form of unsightly and life-draining tumors. She deserved no less, but had also been given a life sentence of loneliness. Like the first evil, this body had been without friend or family.

Unfortunately for her, she hadn't been content to suffer her misery alone.

Behind her, lying in his own blood, Luther gave evidence of further misdeeds. Evil bitch.

Gaby didn't back step at the ghoulish approach. Luther needed medical attention, and the sooner she dispatched the ghoul, the sooner he could get it.

Smiling in relish, Gaby slid the knife free of the sheath. The naked being fell forward, and Gaby went with the momentum, rolling to the ground and in the process sinking the knife deep in several key places, twisting in the stomach, grinding it across the throat, and lastly cutting through the perineum. One sharp turn of her blade—and the body began bleeding out.

Gaby pushed to her knees and shoved the nude form away. Her skin crawled in revulsion, her stomach heaved.

And another form appeared, this one missing half a face. The jaw was gone, one eye eaten away. Purplish welts and scabbed lumps covered the upper body. It came forward, dragging one useless appendage that might have been a leg in better times.

Through her perception, Gaby knew that early abuse had depraved this soul, but that couldn't play into Gaby's actions. The abused often went on to abuse. Someone had to stop the cycle.

She would be the one.