John lay with his back to the wall of an empty building. He was resting, trying to let his body heal. In the distance, he could still hear the whine of police sirens, the entire city was on alert now, and for good reason.

The sound of something approaching caught his attention. Cautious, John reached for his gun, only to relax as Cassandra ducked inside, a newspaper tucked under one arm.

“You get yourself food?” John asked.

“Nope.” Cassandra pulled the paper out, offering it to John. “Thought you should see this first.”

John read the headline.

[Mass murderer still at large: Police calling for any reports on whereabouts.]

Below it was an enlarged, incredibly crude sketch of John. It looked as if a five-year-old had drawn it, from memory, with their foot.

“Pretty good likeness,” Cassandra commented.

“Not even on my worst day. Yours looked better.”

Cassandra paused at that.

“. . .You looked at my journal?”

John mentally kicked himself.

“. . .I was waiting for you for a while.” He cleared his throat. “That’s not important right now.”

“Really?” Cassandra sounded skeptical, after a moment, she let out a breath. “Fine. But if the police are after you that means that thing’s still using other cops to find us. So, what are we going to do?”

John tossed the paper back to Cassandra, moving to a nearby window.

“. . .Let’s give them what they want.”

Cassandra stood in a phonebooth, holding the filthy receiver inches away from her face.

After a moment, an operator picked up.

“Third street precinct, how can I help?”

“Hello?” Cassandra tried to put some panic in her voice. “I saw the wanted man from the newspaper, the one that killed the cop yesterday. He’s by a building on fifth near the train station!”

Half a dozen patrol cars screeched to a stop in the street outside John’s hideout. Nathaniel stepped out, holding the brim of his cap low to hide the decay that was setting in on O’Malley’s face.

His father wore Chief Quinn’s skin now, he gestured to a nearby group.

“Spread out! If he’s here, we’ll find the son of a bitch.”

Nathaniel moved up beside him. The Chief waited for the others to get out of earshot before he spoke again.

“Weaken him first, as many bullets as you can put into him. That’s the only chance we’ll have to take his body.”

Suddenly a girl’s scream pierced the air.

“It came from over there!” One of their lackeys said, pointing towards a nearby building.

His father nodded, and Nathaniel set after the group, spreading out and heading towards the source of the scream.

After a few moments, the dozen or so they’d brought had thinned to only a few, until soon he was moving through an alley alone. He drew his gun, searching the dark alley in the evening light. A nearby yell of surprise caught his attention, and the girl he’d remembered as Cassandra darted through the alley in front of him.

Nathaniel picked up his pace, rounding the corner to find – nothing.

Then a rough hand tore him off his feet. His scream was cut short as he slammed into the ground, the air forced out of him, his gun skittering somewhere into the darkness.

John straddled him then, his hand wrapped around Nathaniel’s throat.

“I’ll kill you. . .” Nathaniel rasped.

“Try it,” John dared, “-and I’ll put you down right here and now.” Nathaniel grunted in pain as John’s hand began digging into his rotting skin, pressing him into the floor. “Tell me what you know about that old woman.”

“She. . .” Nathaniel started, “-she didn’t send you?”

“Why would she?”

A pause, then Nathaniel gave a strangled laugh.

“Then she won’t be helping you. . .”

Before John could react, Nathaniel’s searching hand finally grasped something. He twisted in John’s grip, ignoring the skin of his neck tearing as he slammed a brick into the side of John’s head.

John reeled back as Nathaniel surged towards him, pinning him to the ground, hands trying to crush his throat. Black rivulets quickly spread from Nathaniel’s hand, surging up to John’s neck as he began to take control of his body. John was still reeling from the blow as he felt his body seize. Pain unlike any he’d ever felt flooded through him, and the world went black.

Then a shrill scream, and suddenly Cassandra was on Nathaniel, clawing at his face. Nathaniel threw Cassandra off a second later, but it had given John a chance to recover. The air around them liquified as John pressed forward, driving the other man into the wall, and began to draw his soul into him.

Memories flashed through John’s head; A young Nathaniel being torn from his father’s arms. Fire as it washed over him. Darkness. Then, the old woman and dog. John’s focus shifted, instead of allowing the power to flow into him as he normally did, he tried to focus on the old woman, to learn what Nathaniel knew. But it was like staring at the sun. The more he tried to grasp on to the memories, the more distorted they became. The last thing he saw was the old woman standing over Nathaniel’s burnt corpse as she spoke the words, “wake up.”

Then reality snapped back into place, John was still holding Nathaniels, now limp, corpse. He allowed it to slump to the ground, looking for Cassandra.

Instead, he found Chief Quinn, standing in the doorway, watching the scene, the shotgun in his hands pointed directly at John’s chest.

“Nathaniel. . ?” Quinn asked.

John stood straighter.

“It’s me, Pa.”

The man relaxed, lowering the barrel of the shotgun. Slowly John moved towards him, but as he did, the man’s expression shifted. The barrel of the shotgun twitched upward, John lunged forward on instinct, ignoring the pain and noise as the slug tore through his side. Too slow, John grasped the shotgun only for the other man to abandon it, turning, and running.

John dropped to a knee, weak but not out of the fight. To his side, Cassandra was getting to her feet, more shaken than hurt. Satisfied she’d be okay, John took a deep breath, and followed after the man.

John pushed through a crowd, watching as the other man’s form ducked and weaved through the clusters of commuters. John vaulted over a fence as they entered the train station, the press of bodies only growing even more dense. Pa, or the thing Nathaniel’s memories told him was Pa, shot a glance back at him, panic clear in his eyes. The station was in full swing, commuters blocking the entrance and exits.

John watched as Pa reached out to the crowd, and Quinn’s body suddenly fell to the ground, dead. Then the woman next to him did the same. One by one, it happened again and again. Bodies dropping like dominos as Pa rapidly transferred from one person to another. Soon, the platform was littered with the dead.

People panicked, adding to the chaos. John muscled through the crowd, searching their faces, trying to find the one Pa was possessing.

As a train began to pull from the station, John saw one man staring at him from the train’s window, a smile on his face. All he could do was watch as it faded into the distance, out of his reach.