The Forsaken

Heavy rains poured, and thunder clapped overhead. The rain poured hard and fast, smacking against the ground and bouncing off the asphalt highways. The skies exploded in blinding flashes as lightning turned the night skies into a strobe.

Beneath the fifty miles of a storm front that rested over the valley, few people were moving as they waited for the storms out. The highways were empty as the standing water on the roads left them impassible. Even local authorities who patrolled the streets played it safe and stayed off the roads.

Far away from civilization, there was activity in a secluded old barn. A black Explorer was just outside the barn door. The sound of music from inside the old barn mixed with the sounds of the storm. It was a perfect night for what needed doing.

Inside, in the center of the barn, was a man strapped to a beam. His hands were tied, he had a gag in his mouth, and his feet were bound together. He struggled against his bindings but to no avail. His captor knew what he was doing.

The man was a missing person named Ben Garza. He’d been missing for six weeks until that fated night when he stumbled into the wrong bar. Ben’s mistake was not altering his pattern. It was what got him caught.

Ben was on the wire, his face spread out to every police agency in the region. During his missing time, Ben became a suspect in six murders. He tried to resist the urge but succumbed to the voices in his head. Ben was unaware of how not in control he was.

The other man in the barn, his captor, stood over a table at the other end of the barn. He unrolled a nylon kit filled with tools. Looking down at the table, this wasn’t his favorite part of the job. It was something he committed to many years ago.

“Easy buddy,” quipped the man. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

When he was ready, he walked over to the man and began to draw around his feet with chalk. He drew twelve symbols, and the man strapped to the post started acting uncomfortable.

“I know, you guys don’t like this much,” the man smiled at his captive.

Finally finished, he stood up and pulled the gag out of the man’s mouth. Taking the ballgag and putting it in his bag, the man turned and asked his captive a question.

“So, which one are you?”

“Sum Tuus Interfector!” growled the man.

Hearing that, he asked him again, demanding an answer in English.

“Come on, how are we supposed to communicate if you don’t cooperate?”

“Why would I cooperate with you, Lucas Shaw?” asked the captive. “We both know it’s not going to get me anywhere.”

“True, this ends one way. It’s how we get there that’s up to you,” admitted Lucas. “So be it.”

Lucas went over to his things and took out a book. He put a stole over his shoulders, wrapping around his neck, and wrapped a rosary around his hand. As he started to speak, the captive begged him to stop.

“Tell me who you are,” Luke demanded.

“Why don’t you call me Ben?”

“You’re not Ben, but for the purposes of discussion, why don’t you tell me why you’re here?”

Ben responded by telling Luke he already knew the answer. He challenged Luke to give him a tougher question. He accused Luke of being no Woodward and Bernstein with questions so simple.

Luke stepped closer, cracking Ben in the face for being a wise ass.

“Keep it up. I have all night!”

Ben laughed as blood trickled out the corner of his mouth. He stared back at Luke, still trying to free himself. His strength felt tapped by something. He looked around the post he was strapped to, trying to understand why.

“Felling a little neutered are you?”

“How?”

“The runes, they’re older than the bible itself,” Luke explained.

“You’re not independent?” asked Ben.

Luke smiled widely. He hadn’t heard of an independent contractor since attending the academy in Rome. Even then, there were few known independents, and their identities remained a secret.

Luke met one in the Northwest while investigating a case. The guy was grizzly and depressive and wreaked of cheap alcohol. He envisioned all the private contractors that way, degenerate flesh bags on legs.

“No,” replied Luke. “I’m sanctioned.”

Luke walked closer, but this time holding a large knife. He sliced the blade into Ben’s cheek.

“Is that all you got?”

Luke laughed. He was only beginning to get into his bag of tricks. Luke intended to make Ben talk and had the tools to do the job. When Luke turned again, he splashed a caustic liquid onto Ben’s wound.

Ben’s screams went unheard. Luke reveled in the misery of his captive, imagining the screams of Ben’s many victims. Luke had questions about the murders Ben committed. He wanted to know why he was murdering people. Then, he needed to know his true identity.

The thing that looked like Ben Garza to Luke was a bloodied mess after just one round of Luke’s interrogation. It wasn’t getting him anywhere, which was odd for Luke. Usually, by that point, whoever he had to work with would break. Ben Garza was a special kind of case.

“I promise, you give me your real name and answer my questions, and I’ll make this much less painful. Otherwise, we’re going to have some fun,” promised Luke.

“Do your worst,” growled Ben. “Do you think you’re the first of you I’ve met. You’re all the same. You swoop in to play the hero, send the damned back to hell, but are just a stones throw from serial killers.”

Luke saw his opportunity and smiled. The door was open. Now, he had to keep it open.

“Is that so?” he asked. “The first of us. What exactly do you think I am?”

“One of the trained, the new generation of warriors, sent to rid the world of my kind,” growled Ben.

“Is that what you think,” laughed Luke. “Do I strike you as the father Marin type?”

The face in front of him showed confusion. He had the man thinking. Ben Garza’s body slumped some. Luke wondered if he had resigned himself to his fate. Would he now share his true identity?

“So, what’s it going to be?” asked Luke. “Or do I get to take my time at this party?”

“You know, no matter what, I’ll be back,” a voice echoed through the room.

Luke got caught by surprise. He hadn’t expected the voice to be so loud. It put him a little off his game to hear the echoing as loudly as that. He knew why it was so loud. He wasn’t dealing with a bottom-of-the-food chain case.

“Me potes vocare Belfagorem,” said the voice coming from Ben Garza.

“Is that poor bastard alive?”

“This one, he died a week after I took him,” said the voice.

“So, Belfagar, why are you on Earth?” asked Luke, holding his blade out in front of his victim’s eyes.

The voice stopped before coming from the lips of Ben Garza. When they spoke, a cold chill entered the barn. Winds began to howl outside, forcing the barn doors open. The howling was intense, and Luke barely heard the thing in front of him bellowing.

“We’re all coming! We are all coming, there’s nothing you can do to stop us. Nobody can, you worms aren’t worthy,” yelled the voice from Ben Garza’s body.

Luke had heard enough. He walked to his table of goodies and retrieved a large jug. Going back, he smiled down at the body of Ben Garza. Then, he poured the entire gallon over Garza’s head.

The smoke that rolled off of Garza caused the voice of Belfagor to scream out in pain. His screams were accompanied by Ben Garza thrashing back and forth in his bonds. Nothing was going to break him out of the bindings.

“That should weaken you enough for this,” said Luke, slowly beginning to carve out the eyes of the wanted fugitive.

Hours passed, and the pain and suffering that Belfagor felt before Lucas Shaw finished with him was epic. Lucas heard the name Belfagor during training. Even though he found out who the monster inside Ben Garza was, Luke had questions.

They were all coming, Luke wondered. How many did he mean, and when were they coming? Luke wondered if it was a general statement of fact. If they were coming and would act out like Belfagor, they weren’t planning on being subtle about being there.

Lucas got to his Explorer and backed up. Once at a safe distance, he pulled out an electronic device and flipped a switch. A blinding orange and red ball of fire erupted behind him as the barn turned into matchsticks.

Nothing would remain of what just transpired besides a burned body that DNA tests would say is a wanted fugitive and murdered.

A blast like that one was visible in three counties. Luke sped away from the scene, still impressed by Belfagor’s resistance. In his time, he’d never seen a monster that resilient. Belfagor took his best shots and wouldn’t give up anything else.

It was nearly daylight before Lucas made it to the nearest town. With payphones being a thing of the past, he needed to buy a phone. Fortunately, most of the big box stores had disposables.

Punching in the last numbers and resetting the phone, Luke pressed ten digits before hitting send. When he got through two messages were waiting. Only one of them mattered.

Lucas drove northwest. He listened to the sound of the radio to keep him from falling asleep. There was nothing like a long drive to clear the mind, especially after a hunt. He was still pondering what the meaning behind Belfagor’s statement was. They were all coming?

Twenty-one hours later, Lucas Shaw pulled into the parking area in front of the catholic church in Seattle, Washington. The Archbishop and the Diocese awaited his presence. He’d driven over 700 miles to get there and still didn’t know why they summoned him.

Lucas was taken to the office of the Archbishop. Once the door closed, Archbishop Rogers motioned for him to sit down.

“So, how was the midwest?” asked the Archbishop.

“You know, we came, we saw, we conquered,” answered Lucas, a little jittery from the caffeine and cross-country drive.

“I see, and were there any issues?”

Lucas looked at Archbishop Rogers, still getting used to the new boss in the States. They’d only met face to face two other times, and when they had, the two didn’t see eye to eye on much of anything. However, what happened in the barn was something he was obligated to report.

“I had a little run in with a less run of the mill monster. This one, his name rings a bell. In fact, it rings a big freaking gong of a bell,” admitted Lucas.

“So, what name did he give you?”

Lucas looked at the holy man and answered, “Belfagor.”

The two men exchanged glances, and ArchBishop Rogers held his cross and mumbled. He looked out the window, staring into the distance. There was a look of fear on the sixty-year-old’s face.

“So, is he who I think he is, or rather, was?”

Arch Bishop Rogers stood and walked to his books. He removed one and brought it to his desk. Flipping through the pages, he found an entry he remembered reading many years ago. Only three times in history was the information in front of him shared with someone outside of the clergy. This was to be the fourth.

“Belfagor, yes,” sighed the holy man. “There is reason to be concerned, my son.”

“O.K., father, do you want to share?” Lucas asked, a little anxious and far too tired for the cryptic priest talk.

“What did he say?”

“Oh, that he and his kind were unstoppable, then a lot of yada, yada, and that they were all coming and there was nothing we could do?”

The old priest excused Lucas from the room with a wave of his hand. Lucas sat staring at the priest, wondering if he really thought that was going to get rid of him. He knew he’d heard the name. Now, he wanted to know why.

“Sorry, father, but I’m afraid I’ll be needing more than that,” he told the Archbishop. “A lot more.”

Archbishop Rogers looked at Lucas with a scowl. He loathed the type of man Lucas represented. As a theologian, he knew at times the church resorted to the use of such men. But, Lucas was his least favorite of the bunch, so far.

“You are permitted access only to that which I allow, is that clear, Inquisitor?”

Lucas got up, walked to the back of the room, and locked the door. He turned around and faced Archbishop Rogers, a daring look in his eyes. He wasn’t going to take no for an answer, not this time.

“Look here, father, I’m problably going to hell anyway when you consider what I do for the church. Do you think for a moment that beating the truth out of you is over the line in my eyes? How about putting a bullet in your good leg?” Lucas threatened. “Now spill.”

The holy man looked at Lucas, less than amused, but realized he was the kind to carry through with such a threat. He was the lead Inquisitor in the United States for a reason.

“Alright, sit,” he instructed Lucas. “What do you know about the 7 princes of Hell?”

“Shit. I just carved one of them into kibbles and bits,” sighed Lucas.