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Remy reached out to pet the animal and it reared back, avoiding his hand.
"No touch," Tyger warned.
Remy pulled back his hand. If only Israfil… had remained so aloof, maybe they wouldn't be in the situation they currently found themselves in.
Ignoring the animal, he turned his attention back to the last journal and slowly opened the cover. It was as he suspected. As he feared.
It's becoming so hard.
To shed this skin of humanity… to assume the form and purpose of what I was. Am.
It's all so very sad. To end their lives. None of them wants to die; they cling so desperately to what little life remains. What right do I have?
It's my job; that's what I keep telling myself, over and over, but it's getting so difficult.
I know what they're feeling — how they think. They fear death… me, most of all. They fear my design… They fear what I can do.
There's so much pain, but still they hold on with both hands. Fighting to survive. Fighting to live… even for a second more… they fight.
They fight.
The alcohol and narcotics help to numb the pain, giving me the ability to see things clearer.
At least I believe that I am seeing more clearly.
I have gone to the Watchers, to see if it is possible to be as I am and still live amongst them. Out of all of us drawn to the allure of humanity, I assumed that they would know best.
I was wrong.
They know as little now as they did when they first arrived upon the world of God's man; still wallowing
in excess and perversity, waiting… believing that they will someday be allowed to return to Paradise.
The Watchers will not be forgiven, and if I had not managed to control my anger, they would have all been destroyed.
There has been enough death for now.
Tyger had lain down at the edge of the desk beside Remy, the cat's contented purrs providing him a momentary distraction from what he feared he was about to read.
The two natures were at war, the angelic struggling against the human, and in reading Israfil's words, Remy was made privy to the mental collapse firsthand.
He flipped to the last page in the journal.
The jackals gather.
They know that I am weak. My thoughts troubled. I am not thinking clearly… correctly.
They want it all to end… for all the sadness to die. They say all I need do is stop. I know that it is wrong… but to end the pain. It would be glorious.
They want the scrolls… to break the seals. To begin the end times.
I know I'm not thinking clearly. I must escape their influence… hide what they seek from me. It's the only way.
I'm not sure how much longer I can remain strong. They tell me that this is what He desires. To end it all.
Remy looked up, icy fingers of fear ru
The jackals gather.
He had some answers, but now even more questions.
They want it all to end.
Who? Who are the jackals and why do they want it all to end? Remy's thoughts spun.
They want the scrolls… To begin the end times.
He felt as though he might jump out of his skin. The cat was still purring, and he resisted the urge to chase it away.
The scrolls.
He began to rummage through the two remaining drawers on the other side of the desk. Pulling open the larger bottom drawer, he found only a psychology textbook, some office supplies, and a few empty folders.
"I must've fallen asleep," Casey's voice said as she came into the room. "Did you find out anything useful?"
Remy didn't answer. He had just opened the top drawer and knew what he had found. He carefully removed the ancient object, the aroma of age wafting from the soft leather sack that had once contained the scrolls.
"What's that?" Casey asked, reaching across the desk to feel it. "Some kind of leather pouch or something?"
Tyger lifted his head toward her hand, wanting then to be petted.
Cats.
"Have you ever seen this before?" Remy asked.
Casey shook her head. There was a hint of confusion — of fear — in her eyes, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep the truth from her.
He was about to ask if there was any other place in the apartment where Jon might have hidden something when Tyger's body went rigid on the desk. The cat hissed, lashing out at Casey, his claws scratching the back of her hand.
"What the hell did you do that for?" Casey whined, bringing the injured hand to her mouth.
"Danger!" the cat said, his fur puffed, eyes wide with fear. Then he sprang from the desk with a growl, his back legs scrabbling for purchase on the wood floors as he fled the room.
Remy started to sense it also, a sudden chill in the air as the light gradually began to dim.
"Is it getting darker in here?" Casey asked, injured hand still pressed to her mouth as she glanced around the room. She reached out with her good hand, tapping at the hanging bulb.
Remy grabbed most of the notebooks and shoved them into the leather casing. "We need to leave," he said, putting the satchel under his arm and grabbing Casey as he moved around the desk.
"What's wrong?" Fear had crept into her voice.
The tiny office was darker now, as if the light cast by the bare bulb was slowly being drained away. Remy dragged Casey behind him down the hallway and toward the living room. It was dark there as well, an u
"What is it? What's going on?" Casey shrieked, on the verge of hysteria. And he couldn't blame her.
He had come up against those who traveled in the darkness earlier today, and he had no desire to deal with them again.
"A back door," he said, giving her a sudden, violent shake. "Is there a back door?"
She stared at him, eyes welling with tears, lower lip trembling. It was colder now and the darkness was begi
"Is there a back door?" Remy screamed at her again.
A bit of focus seemed to return to her eyes, and she moved toward the kitchen. They darted across the linoleum toward the forest green door in the corner, as a wall of solid black spread out behind them.
Remy reached the door first, grabbing hold of the knob and giving it a turn. It didn't open. He saw the dead bolt and grabbed for it, the sound of the latch slipping back deafening in the eerie silence that suddenly filled the kitchen.
Casey gasped from behind him. Hand still on the doorknob, Remy turned to see that a skeletal hand, its flesh pale and mottled, had emerged from its sea of gloom and grabbed hold of the woman's hair.
"Help me," Casey begged, her eyes wide in horror as she was violently yanked back.
Into the hungry darkness.
Remy grabbed hold of Casey's flailing hands.
She was screaming now, her head bent awkwardly backward as she struggled to keep from being drawn into the shadows.
"Don't let go!" she shrieked at him. "Please!"
But he did, shutting out her wails of despair as the darkness pulled her in. Remy's focus was on the counter and what he could see glistening seductively in the dish rack. He lunged, snatching up the butcher knife and turning back toward the advancing wall of black. Steeling himself, Remy threw himself into the inky darkness.