Leviathan

“What the hell are you talking about?” Katie said to the journal, her frustration on the rise. It was the last entry and, like the others, it told her very little.

Katie tossed the journal onto the desktop and thought about what she had read. “You found something and put it in the freezer,” she said to herself, chewing at the end of her fingernail. Her eyes sca

She moved away from the desk and strolled down the hallway past the examination room. At the end of the hall was a door that she had originally thought was to a maintenance closet. Katie grabbed hold of the doorknob, turned it, and found herself looking down a flight of wooden steps that disappeared into the darkness of a cellar.

She felt for a light switch along the wall and, finding none, used the cool stone for a guide as she carefully descended. At the foot of the stairs she could just make out the iridescent shape of a lightbulb that seemed to be suspended in the darkness. She reached out, fumbled for the chain, and gave it a good yank.

The bulb came to life, illuminating the cool storage area dug out from the rock and dirt beneath the building’s foundation. She recognized Kevin’s mountain bike, ski equipment, and even a canoe, but it was the freezer in the far corner that attracted her interest. Plugged into a heavy-duty socket beneath a gray metal electrical box, the white unit sat atop some wooden pallets, humming quietly.

Maneuvering around winter coats hanging from pipes, Katie approached the freezer. She stood in front of the oblong unit, feeling a faint aura of cold radiating from the white box. Her fingers began to tingle in anticipation as she slowly reached for the cover.

“Let’s see what spooked you, Kev,” she said in a whisper, lifting up the lid. A cloud of freezing air billowed up, and she breathed the cold gas into her lungs, coughing. The distinctive aroma of frozen dead things filled the air, and she took note of the red biohazard symbols on the bags lying along the freezer bottom. She leaned into the chest, reaching down to pick up one of the bags. It was covered in a fine frost, masking its contents, and Katie brushed away the icy coating so she could see within the thick biohazard container. The thing inside the bag stared back with eyes frozen wide in death.

“Holy crap,” Katie McGovern said as she studied the specimen through the plastic bag. A creeping unease ran up and down the length of her spine, making her shudder. “No wonder you were freaked out.”

INTERLUDE TWO

Stevie Stanley huddled in a dark corner of his mind, trying with all his might to hold on to the things that made him who he was—those pockets of recollection, moments that had left their indelible marks on his fragile psyche. But the excruciating pain was systematically ripping those memories away. One after another they disappeared: the blue, blue sky filled with birds; the black-and-gray static on the television screen; the yellow dog ru

So beautiful.

Seven Archons surrounded the child’s writhing body and continued the ritual that so often ended with the death of the subject. Stevie fought wildly against his restraints as Archon Jaldabaoth painted the symbols of transfiguration upon his pale, naked skin, muttering sounds and words that a human mouth could never manage. Archon Oraios stabbed a long, gold needle into the child’s stomach and depressed the plunger to implant the magical seeds of change.

The sigils on Stevie’s flesh then began to rise, to smolder—to burn. The boy screamed wildly as his body was racked with the painful changes. Archon Jao placed a delicate hand over the child’s mouth to silence his irksome cries. Things were proceeding nicely, and the Archons waited patiently as the transformation progressed.

Soon there would be nothing left of Stevie. His memory of Aaron burned the brightest, its loving warmth providing some insulation against the agony his tiny, seven-year-old body was forced to endure. Aaron would come for him. Aaron would rescue him from the pain; he need only hold on to what little he still had.

Archon Sabaoth was the first to notice. He tilted his head and listened. Sounds were coming from the child’s body—other than the muffled screams of his discomfort. Cracking, grinding, ripping and tearing sounds: The boy’s body had begun to change—to grow—to mature beyond his seven years. This was the most dangerous part of the ritual, and the Archons studied their subject with unblinking eyes, searching for signs that the magicks might have gone awry.

Archon Katspiel remembered a subject whose bone structure had grown disproportionately, leaving the poor creature hideously deformed. Its mind had been so psychologically damaged by the pain that they’d had no choice but to order Archon Domiel to put it out of its misery. It had been a shame, really, for that subject had shown great potential—almost as much as this latest effort.

Stevie held on as long as he could, clutching at the final memory of his brother, friend, and protector—but it was slipping away, piece by jagged piece. He wanted to hold on to it, to remember the beautiful face of the boy who had promised never to leave him, but the pain—there was so much of it. What was the boy’s name? he wondered as he curled up within himself, no longer knowing the question, no longer caring. It didn’t matter. Now there was only pain. He was the pain—and the pain was he.

Archon Erathaol unlocked the manacles around the subject’s chafed wrists and ankles while the others watched. The ritual appears to have been successful, he mused as they watched the subject curl into a fetal position on the floor of the solarium. What had once been a frail child was now a mature adult, his body altered to physical perfection, and his sensitivity to the preternatural greatly augmented. The Archons had succeeded in their task.

Verchiel would be pleased.

CHAPTER SIX

It was quite possibly the best meat loaf Aaron had ever had. He shoveled the last bit of mashed potatoes and peas into his mouth, leaving a good bite of meat loaf uneaten. Gabriel lay beside his chair looking up pathetically a puddle of drool between his paws.

Aaron looked at Mrs. Provost across the kitchen table. She was sipping a cup of instant coffee—made with the coffee bags, not that granule crap, she had informed him.

“Do you mind?” he asked, pointing at the piece of meat covered in dark brown gravy and motioning toward the dog.

“I don’t care,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee. “Would have given him his own plate if you’d’a let me.”

Aaron picked up the meat and gave it to Gabriel. “He had his supper, and besides, too much people-food isn’t good for him,” he said as the dog greedily gobbled the meat from his fingers, making certain to lick every ounce of grease and gravy from the digits. “Makes him gassy.”

“Are you trying to embarrass me?” Gabriel grunted licking his chops.

Aaron laughed and ruffled the yellow dog’s velvety soft ears.

“That’s something I can relate to,” the old woman said, hauling herself up from her seat. “Somedays I feel like that blimp for the tires, I’m so full a’ gas.”

Aaron stifled a laugh.

She reached across the table for his plate and stacked it atop hers. “Meal couldn’t’a been too bad,” she said, staring at his empty plate. “I don’t even have to wash this one,” she said with a wise smirk.