Ash Return of the Beast

CHAPTER 64



Kane’s Apartment

10:15 p.m.

When Kane opened the door he barely recognized the woman standing in front of him. She looked like she’d been sleeping in her clothes. Her hair seemed like it hadn’t been washed in a week. She looked older, somehow. The only makeup she had on was some lipstick. Maybe not even that. He couldn’t quite tell.

“Well,” she said, “are you just going to stand there gawking or invite me in?”

“Yeah, sorry.” He swung the door open and stepped aside.

She walked in and took a cursory survey of the place before plopping down on the couch, exhausted. “Nice place.” It was the only thing even close to a normal home that she’d been in since that evening in Tocho’s upstairs flat back in Sky City. It seemed like ages ago. Another lifetime.

“Look at you,” Kane said, still standing by the door. “What the hell have you been doing? Where have you been?”

“I’ll tell you if you’ll just shut up and listen.”

“Well, you better hurry up. Cowl, came out of his coma. Halverson’s got him under sedation, but––”

“I know. You told me on the phone. Now listen. I’ve got something to tell you.”

Ravenwood gave him the digest version of where she’d been and what she’d been doing. She hoped she’d be able to convince him that this whole thing was absolutely real, erase any doubt that may still be lingering in his mind about the consequences of failing to stop Cowl. She knew Kane was aware of how dangerous Cowl was. But before leaving for New Mexico, she’d sensed that maybe he still had at least a shred of doubt about the reality of the magick and the idea of demons taking over the planet even in spite of the things he’d seen but couldn’t explain. She could hardly blame him. This was her territory. It was her job. She’d lived with it for years. Most people––people like Kane––believe such things only happen in low-budget horror films with wanna-be actors and bad dialog. She fully anticipated Kane’s reaction. But telling her story was all she could do. If he didn’t believe her she would have to live with it and hope he wouldn’t try to stop her from carrying out her plan.

“So, that’s it,” she said, finishing her story. “I’m sure you don’t––”

“I believe you.”

“What?”

“Yeah. I know. You didn’t see that one coming, did you?” He got up and paced the floor while he talked. “Why do you think I’ve been out of my mind wondering where the hell you were and when the hell you’d be back? Now, listen. I’ve got something to tell you.”

He sat down and told her about Cowl coming out of the coma and the scaring on his head in the shape of the number, 666. He was surprised that she looked shocked. “What?” he asked. “You don’t believe me? That’s a switch.”

“No, it’s just that…” she paused. “I didn’t see that coming, either. It doesn’t exactly fit the biblical sequence of events for the coming of the Antichrist. But there is a connection. It’s the number ‘nine’ again.”

She explained how in the book of Revelation, CHAPTER 13, it says the Antichrist will have a head wound and he will reign with authority over the earth for a period of forty-two months. Then she got a pen and paper and showed Kane how the English gematria value of the word ‘nine’ is 42.

Kane had heard enough. In fact, he’d heard so much that he was practically numb to it by now. He didn’t need any more convincing. “So what do you think we should do now?”

She didn’t have to think. She’d already come up with a plan. “He has to die. There’s no way around it.”

“Yeah. I pretty much figured that. But how?”

“I’m going to kill him.”

Kane’s eyebrows shot up. “You. You’re going murder Rye Cowl.”

“You got a better idea?”

“Not really. But how?”

“Cyanide.”

“What?”

“He’s unconscious, right? You said the doctor has him sedated.”

“Yeah, but that’s the problem. Doesn’t a cyanide pill only work if the person crushes it by biting on it?”

“I’ll make it work.” She looked at her watch. It was 11 p.m. “We’ve only got an hour get to the hospital and get this done. I’ll drive.”

“But wait a minute. Where are you going to get the cyanide pill?”

“I told you I had to make a quick stop on my way here. Remember?”

He gave her a puzzled look.

“Don’t ask,” she said, grabbing him by the arm. “We’re wasting time. Let’s go.”

On the way out the door, Kane suddenly thought about Pastor Pete. It was the same old mixed emotion. If we’re successful, the old bastard will live. F*ckin’ shame. He slammed the door.

***

No one at the Trail’s End trailer park heard the shot. If they did, they pretended they didn’t. It was none of their business. Pastor Pete’s body, naked under his old gray flannel robe, lay motionless on the crumpled bed covers, his right arm draped lifelessly over the edge of the bed. The pistol was on the floor just inches from his dangling hand. His head was turned to the side, the pillow soaked in blood.

***

11:06 p.m.

Ravenwood flipped a switch on the dashboard of her black SUV. The red and blue lights behind the grill started strobing. She switched on the siren and gunned the vehicle out onto the empty street. Before they even reached the end of the block Kane hit her with his confession.

“I know who the next victim is,” he said, looking straight ahead.

Ravenwood slammed on the brakes, the SUV screeched to a stop and she cut the siren. She turned to him. “What did you just say?”

Still gazing straight ahead, he took a deep breath. “I know who the ninth victim is.” He turned and looked at her. “My dad.”

He might as well have said it was Santa Claus. It would have made as much sense. She gave her head a quick shake. “What?”

“Remember the phone call I got when we were at Harlan Bodine’s place? The eighth victim? The guy whose kid committed suicide?”

Ravenwood nodded. “Yeah. The call you wouldn’t talk about.”

His eyes turned back to the street. “Yeah. Well, it was my dad. Adoptive dad, actually. A no-good son of a bitch.” He pursed his lips and took a deep breath. “And a preacher.”

Ravenwood’s eyes grew wide. “Wait. Let me get this straight. Your father––”

“Adoptive.”

“Whatever… is a preacher?” She shook her head again.

“There’s more,” he said. Then he let it all out, told her about being molested, about running away, about the cops finding him and bringing him back home and that he believed the old man had intentionally killed his adoptive mother.

Ravenwood was silent for a minute, trying to take it all in. Well, that explains a lot, she thought, remembering back to all the little cryptic comments Kane had dropped into their conversations over the past several weeks. Now it made sense. His disdain for religion is rooted in his hate for the man who raised him––and abused him.

She touched his arm. “My god, Brian. I don’t know what to…” her words trailed off as she withdrew her hand. It was the first time she’d called him by his first name. It just slipped out. She wondered if he even noticed. She could sense the pain and anguish behind his stone cold eyes as he continued looking straight ahead. She glanced at the digital clock on the dashboard and tried to gather her thoughts. She pushed her compassion aside and forced herself to shift back into cop mode. “But what makes you so sure he’s the next victim? I mean––”

He turned to face her. “He has the last Batman coin. It belonged to Rodney Duckworth.”

Ravenwood was completely dumbfounded. “What?”

“Drive. I’ll explain on the way.”