Chapter III

The TV was on.

The volume was low, but there was no mistake despite the rain – it was live, televised coverage of this very building.

‘You see that? Look! I’m on TV, I’m on TV!’

A figure wreathed in shadow hunched over someone – presumably the landlord – bound with duct tape to a kitchen chair, the both of them inches from the TV with their backs to the front door. It was difficult to make out the landlord’s condition, as the room was lit only by the television, and the small place was practically empty, the only furniture the TV – an old, beaten model – a few mismatched chairs and a stained mattress in the corner.

‘I could smell you coming,’ said the shadowed figure. His voice was strange as though he was holding something in his mouth. When he turned, the blue-purple bands of a Tape bracer lit a nightmarish creature: tattered jeans and a ragged, stained shirt that might have once been white draped a dreadfully skinny man. It was impossible to tell his age; he was both young and old at once, with wrinkled and rotten skin as though a very young man had rapidly become old overnight. His straw-blond hair was coming out in clumps, leaving patches of skin behind. Open, but not bleeding, sores dotted the skin, most notably at his arms and hands where patches of unhealed bite marks mottled the flesh. Worse still was the smell: rotten, dead flesh and something darker and grimier. Morgan could only describe it as the scent of evil.

The man – the creature – sniffed the air. The tip of his nose was gone as though it had been torn off, and one of his eyes was missing, leaving a dark, cavernous blackness. ‘Hmm, one of you smells good,’ he said. ‘But I want my money’

Morgan cursed. He was so preoccupied with disgust he had not noticed the very real and threatening knife in the creature’s hand. When it moved and the knife flailed about, the landlord tied to the chair groaned through the tape over her mouth.

Morgan took the puck carefully from the pocket on his chest. ‘I have your money right here.’

The creature tilted its head. ‘That isn’t it! I wanted it in gold bullions, y’know? In a suitcase and all, just like the movies. I asked for it!’

‘Does that matter? It’s the same amount of money. Just turn it into gold yourself.’

The knife danced around, catching the light of the television. The landlord thrashed in panic.

‘It’s what I deserve!’ the creature shrieked. ‘You bureau fucks – after all that, it’s what I deserve!’

‘What’s your name?’ asked Morgan calmly, trying to placate and defuse.

The creature swung the knife side-to-side, single eye suspicious. ‘What will you do if I gave it to you?’

‘I just want to talk.’

The creature shook his head and crossed his arms. ‘Alright. It’s Teddy. You got that? Ted-dy.’

‘I got it.’ Morgan took a cautious step forward. He was holding the puck in front of him like the priests held crosses in old vampire movies. ‘Why don’t you come and take this, yeah? And we’ll have a nice chat about what you’ll do with it.’ Morgan’s gut warmed with the stirring of compulsion; he laced his words with it carefully. ‘You don’t need that knife there, okay Teddy?’

Teddy took a step toward Morgan, the knife lowering. His single eye was glazed over, and his mouth – packed with pristine-white, tombstone-like teeth – went slack. He was just a few steps from the pair of officers and the knife was loose in his hand when the spark came back into his gaze.

Teddy straightened. The grip on the knife tightened. He clutched his head and shook it like a wet dog. ‘Stop it! I knew it! You needed my name to control me, didn’t you!’

Shalia stiffened. ‘What’s he talking about?’

‘Dammit!’ Morgan snarled. ‘He broke free. Telling me their name makes the compulsion work better, usually. I guess it’s because he’s…whatever he is.’

“Compulsion’?’ Shalia repeated, her voice high.

‘The sergeant mentioned I was persuasive.’

‘But that’s –’

‘Shut up!’ shrieked Teddy, spittle flying. He lurched back, surprisingly nimble despite the condition of his body, and went for the landlord.

‘Shit, the hostage!’ Shalia brushed past Morgan and trained the barrel of her Austere on Teddy.

She fired.

Both her aim and stance were impeccable.

With the sound of a great rush of air, a shot of orange light streaked across the room, slamming into Teddy’s back.

He stiffened. Then bound forward, the bolt utterly ineffective.

With an almost monstrous amount of strength, he turned the chair around one-handed until the landlord was facing them. The landlord’s face was streaked with tears, her hair in disarray, the tape cutting into the skin of her cheeks.

Teddy placed the knife against her throat – his hands were shaking, and more than once the metal kissed skin. ‘Those don’t work on me,’ he hissed, gnashing those white tombstones near the landlord’s neck. ‘It’s only for the living.’

That rictus, territorial grin sent a dizzying rush of animal hate through Morgan’s veins. He swallowed but could not stop the canines lengthening in response. ‘Just take the fucking money,’ he growled, throwing the puck into the middle of the room.

Teddy’s single eye followed the puck as it fell, but the knife never strayed from the landlord’s throat. That grin widened.

‘Okay,’ he said, still smiling.

He yanked the landlord’s head to the side –

And tore into her neck with his teeth.

Many things happened at once. Shalia cried ‘No!’ at Morgan’s side, then shouldered past him to get to the hostage. Teddy dove for the puck, licking the blood from his lips.

Morgan went still, his traitorous, monstrous body flooding him with signals he did not want. It was different, watching it from the outside – watching a monster act when it was not him. He felt like a voyeur, some outsider party with the same secret knowledge of the in-crowd. A killer acknowledging and admiring the work of another killer. His mouth welled with saliva even as his gut snarled with wicked appetite.

‘…iutenant! Lieutenant!’

Shalia’s voice was a jack-knife to his thoughts. Morgan blinked. She was kneeling near the hostage, Austere at her knees while her hands cupped the landlord’s throat.

Puck clutched in one rotting hand and the knife in the other, Teddy made for the doorway – where Morgan was still rooted to the spot.

Even with the reek of rot moving closer, all he could smell was blood, blood, blood.

‘Lieutenant!’

Morgan didn’t even move out of the way.

That vile grin still in place, Teddy –

Drove the tip of the knife into Morgan’s gut.