Loose Ends

The rain fell particularly hard that night. Agent Michael Durwood clutched the steering wheel of an armored van as it sped down a rarely-used highway. Beside him, Agent Reyna Philips sat in the passenger seat, flipping through a folder in her lap.

“How much longer?” she asked.

“We’re about five minutes out,” Agent Durwood replied.

Agent Philips sighed as she closed the folder and returned it to the glove compartment.

“Careful, we’re supposed to avoid negative emotions,” Durwood said.

“Yeah, I remember. It’s not my fault road trips put me in a bad mood.”

“Well, remember your training. Keep your mind clear.” The pair rode in silence for the remainder of the trip. Durwood parked their car outside a diner just off the highway and shut off the engine.

“Let’s call it in,” Durwood said.

“You want me to do it?” Philips asked.

“Yeah, I need to review the case file again.”

Durwood reached over and plucked the folder from the glove compartment. Philips dialed a number on her phone and held it to her ear.

“We’ve arrived at the site of the last incursion. Coordinates are one, one, seven, two, two.” She paused, listening as Durwood flipped through the pages with a blank expression.

“Understood, I’ll report back when it’s done. Our watch is eternal.” Philips said, hanging up the call.

Durwood placed the folder back into the glove compartment.

“Cheer up Philips. Their watch may be eternal, but ours won’t be. Once this is done, we’re out, I promise.”

Philips picked up a leather messenger bag from the floor and pulled the strap over her shoulder.

She shot Durwood a playful look. “I’m holding to you that.”

Durwood leaned over and kissed her. A warm smile crossed his face.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way. Come on, let’s get this done.”

The two entered the diner. A bell on the door signaled their arrival, to the relief of a nearby waitress. She ran over to the two agents, her face glistening with tears. Several other patrons sat in booths nearby, watching silently.

“Thank fucking God, are you two with the police?” the waitress asked.

Durwood looked down at her name tag: Mary-Ann.

“Mary-Ann, right? Yes, we’re here to help. Can you explain what happened?”

The waitress nodded, wiping tears from her eyes and puffing her cheeks as she took shallow, hurried breaths.

Philips laid a hand on her arm. “Hey, it’s going to be okay,” she said.

Mary-Ann nodded, taking a deep breath for the first time since the pair had arrived.

“I had a customer at table four who seemed upset. I tried to strike up a conversation like I normally do, and he just told me to take his order and leave him alone.”

Durwood took a notepad from his jacket pocket and jotted down a few notes with a pen.

“Was he upset when he came in?”

Mary-Ann nodded. “Yeah. After I took his order, he got up and went to the bathroom. That’s when I heard a loud crash. I went to see what happened, and that’s when I—” she sobbed. Philips touched Mary-Ann’s shoulder to comfort her as she cried.

Durwood closed his notebook. “I think we’ve got everything we need from her. Let’s not drag this out any longer than we need to.”

Philips nodded, reaching into her messenger bag. She pulled out a small wooden music box with a metal crank. Mary-Ann eyed it with curiosity.

“That’s a beautiful music box. Can I hear it?” she asked.

Philips nodded. “Of course.”

She opened the lid and began turning the crank. The notes came out smooth and comforting. Mary-Ann’s face relaxed, and her eyes stared forward, still shimmering. The other patrons all fell silent as well, sitting quietly with blank expressions on their faces.

Philips stopped the music and placed the box back into her bag.

“Sometimes I wish that worked on us. There are a few things I wouldn’t mind forgetting.”

Durwood shook his head. “On that, we can agree. Let’s check out the bathroom before they wake up.”

The two agents walked into the diner’s small bathroom. The barely recognizable body of a human male sat slumped beneath a broken sink and a shattered mirror. Streaks of blood painted the floor and the walls. Philips walked over to the mutilated corpse and knelt to take a closer look.

“This is definitely the work of our mark. She tore him apart,” Philips said.

“Class three Wraith. A Rage-Eater, from the looks of it. What a way to go,” Durwood said, taking down another note in his pad.

Philips reached into her bag and pulled out a small glass vial with an intricate gold cap. She opened it and collected some of the coagulating blood from the open wounds on the corpse.

She closed the lid and shook the vial three times. The blood inside turned to a crimson mist as she stood up.

“Don’t you think it’s odd that this one’s alone? I thought Wraiths always traveled in pairs.”

“Let’s focus on this one first, and we’ll go from there,” Durwood said.

Philips nodded. “Let’s head out.”

The two walked past the diner patrons, all of whom were still trapped in a strange trance. As they stepped outside, Philips opened the vial, and the pair watched as the bloody mist inside shot out and flew like a bird down the highway away from the diner.

“Let’s go, she couldn’t have gotten far,”Durwood said, climbing into their car.

***

About five miles down the same mountain highway, Greg Emerson sat hunched over the wheel of his semi, chewing a piece of gum that had long lost flavor.

He turned up the windshield wipers. They frantically tried to keep up with the torrential downpour. A flash of lightning lit up the mountain road for a brief second. Greg's eyes widened as he spotted a woman standing in the middle of the road.

He slammed the brakes first. The tires squealed as the sound of groaning metal cut through the night. Greg's eyes spotted the trailer swinging from behind him in the mirror on his left. He spun the wheel, trying to pull the semi onto the nearest road shoulder. His eyes darted back to the road; the woman stood perfectly still and unflinching.

Greg felt the tires hydroplane on the wet asphalt. He pulled the emergency break and looked back up as he collided with the guardrail. A screech pierced through the chaos as the truck barreled through the guardrail like tissue paper.

The dead weight of the trailer pulled the semi down the slope of the mountain. The thick trees stopped his fall like a net, and everything went silent.

Greg's breaths came in short bursts. His hands were tingling from the adrenaline, still gripping the wheel. He unclasped his seatbelt and swung the driver’s door open. The area outside was pitch black, like a starless sky.

He turned to his right and opened the glove box. Inside was some paperwork and a pistol. Greg took the gun and reached beneath the passenger seat for his roadside emergency kit. He opened the case and took out a flare as he heard the low growl of metal fill the air.

Worried that the truck would soon continue its descent down the mountain, Greg lit the flare and dropped it out the open door. It landed on the slope below and rolled into a nearby tree, casting the area around it in a red glow.

Greg climbed out of the truck and onto solid ground. He made his way up the slope towards the light, using the street lamps on the highway as a beacon. He stepped onto the road through the gnarled tear in the guardrail and stopped to catch his breath.

His eyes scanned the night as the rain crashed down on him.

"Hello! Anyone there?" he shouted.

Greg turned back to the slope and came face to face with a woman in tattered. His hand gripped the pistol as he made eye contact with her—another surge of adrenaline shot through his veins.

"Shit, you scared me!"

The woman was silent, staring at him through jet-black hair that hung over either side of her face.

"Are you hurt?" Greg asked.

She remained silent. Greg took a step toward her and held out his free hand.

"Hey, it's okay, I won't hurt you."

The woman's eyes widened as he approached. Her nostrils flared open. Her hands twitched at her sides.

"Where did you come from?" he asked.

A sinister grin crawled across the woman's lips. Greg took a step backward onto the road. He raised the pistol as the woman started walking toward him.

"Hey, stay right there!" he shouted.

She kept coming, and Greg kept backpedaling until he was in the middle of the highway himself.

The woman stepped underneath one of the street lamps, and Greg saw a forked tongue slip out from behind a mouth full of thin fangs.

"What the fuck are you?" he screamed.

Greg curled his finger around the trigger of the pistol. The woman stopped several steps in front of him. Her forked tongue danced through the air like a serpent, tasting the scent of its prey.

She crouched like an animal, leaping into the air as she released an ear-piercing screech. Greg pulled the trigger as a pair of headlights illuminated the space between them.

The gunshot rang out as an armored van filled the space between them. It hit the woman in mid-air, sending her flying down the highway.

Greg lowered his gun as the truck stopped ahead. A man and a woman stepped out. They ran towards the woman on the road. Greg followed close behind.

"It's her. Start the ritual before she gets back up," the woman said.

"Hey, who are you two?" Greg asked.

The man and woman both spun around.

"Sir, please return to your vehicle." the woman said.

"I just got into a crash; my truck went over the edge," Greg said. He pointed to the woman lying on the ground. "More importantly, what the fuck is she?"

The woman from the van looked at her companion. He, in turn, looked Greg in the eye and replied without hesitation.

"This is a class three Wraith. It's a creature that feeds on negative emotions, particularly anger. It's not supposed to be here."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me. You think I'm going to buy that?"

The woman raised a hand. "It's the truth. I'm Agent Reyna Philips, and this is Agent Michael Durwood. Please remain calm; anger will only make it stronger.”

Maybe it was the adrenaline, or perhaps Greg was just tired of people bullshitting him his whole life, but her patronizing tone only fanned the flames of rage inside him.

He raised his pistol and pointed it at the two agents. Their eyes went wide.

"Tell me the truth! Now!" Greg shouted.

The pistol fell to the ground as an icy hand wrapped around Greg’s throat. He felt his feet come off the ground as he looked down into the black eyes of the Wraith.

Its mouth opened wider than any human’s should. Greg felt the rage pouring out of him through black smoke. It burned his nostrils and filled his mouth with the taste of sulfur.

Nearby, Philips reached into her jacket and pulled out a golden timepiece. Durwood did the same. She pressed the silver switch on the top, and the lid popped open.

The face inside looked like a clock, but it was lined with twelve intricate symbols where the numbers should be. She turned the switch until the hands landed on the symbol where the nine would be.

She looked over to Durwood, and they made eye contact. He nodded, and they both pressed the switch on their timepieces again. All around the two agents, time froze. Thousands of raindrops sat suspended in the air, glistening like jewels.

In front of them, the Wraith stood perfectly still, holding the unfortunate truck driver aloft as a stream of pure rage poured out of his mouth and into hers.

Philips turned to her partner. He slid the timepiece into his jacket pocket and pulled out a glowing blue crystal mounted on the end of a short wooden handle like a paintbrush.

He ran forward and dropped to his knees beneath the Wraith and the truck driver. He pressed the crystal tip against the asphalt and drew a circle around the pair that glowed a bright white.

In the center of the circle, Durwood drew a symbol between the feet of the two combatants. It was a series of interlocking circles with sharp diagonal lines intersecting them. When finished, he stood up and retreated to Philip's side.

"Do it!" he shouted.

Philips pressed the switch on the timepiece, and the rain came down again. A flash of light came from the ground beneath the Wraith's feet—the road beneath ripped open. A deep crimson light poured out from within, followed by an unimaginable heat that turned the raindrops around to steam in the blink of an eye.

Philips ran forward into the steam and watched as the Wraith descended into the open space below, its screech filling the night air.

She dropped down at the hole's edge and looked inside. Beneath her, a yawning chasm of jagged black rocks opened before her, leading to an endless abyss below. The wraith was gone, but the truck driver dangled from a jagged rock inside the hole, screaming for help.

Philips reached down toward him.

"Grab my hand!".

"The portal is closing!" Durwood shouted from behind her.

"I can reach him!"

Her fingers interlocked with the driver's as a screech echoed deep within the abyssal realm below.

“Philips, get out of there now!” Agent Durwood shouted.

“I’ve almost got him!” she replied.

Durwood could barely see through the thick cloud of steam pouring from the portal. He spotted a figure emerge from the trees and watched as it darted into the road, masked by the steam.

His sleep-deprived mind took a moment to remember that Wraiths always travel in pairs.

“Agent Philips! Reyna, look out!” he screamed.

Durwood sprinted into the cloud of steam. The figure from the forest latched itself onto Philip’s back.

Durwood watched as the second Wraith dragged the love of his life into the portal along with the truck driver. He dove onto the ground just as the portal shut. As the steam began to clear and the rain poured down on him, Durwood fumbled with the crystal brush.

He pressed it onto the ground and tried to draw another circle, but nothing happened.

“Come on, you piece of shit, come on!”

A part of him knew it needed to recharge. A deeper part of him knew that once you entered that prison behind the walls of our universe, you never came back. Durwood wasn’t willing to accept either truth.

He slammed his fists on the ground as his tears mingled with the rain and crashed down on the ground beneath him.

“Reyna! Fuck, no, don’t leave me here!” he cried.

Durwood continued hitting the wet asphalt until his knuckles bled. He stopped when he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He stood up and walked back to the van as he answered.

“Durwood, we’ve lost Agent Philip’s signal. What happened?” the voice on the phone asked.

“We opened the gateway, and a second Wraith attacked her. They both fell inside.”

The voice on the other end of the line was silent for a moment.

“Michael, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.”

Durwood climbed into the car to escape the rain and slammed the door.

“Just tell me where it came from.”

Durwood heard papers shuffling. He gripped the steering wheel with a white-hot intensity as he waited.

“We believe the source of the incursion to be a nearby town, some place called Clenchport. Listen, you need to—”

Durwood hung up. He opened the navigation app on his phone and started a route to the nearby town. He didn’t know what he would do once he got there, but as a man with nothing left to lose, Agent Durwood had only one goal:

Vengeance.

***

Agent Durwood’s Story Will Continue…

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