Into the Dark: A Rachel Torres Story. Part 1

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Copyright © 2011 Heather M. All Rights Reserved.

The day I died began like any other day: I woke up, kissed my husband, drank a cup of coffee over toast and eggs, showered and got dressed.

My husband showered, dressed, and left for work as his usual time, driving from our home in Eagle River to his office in Downtown Anchorage. He’s an attorney, specializing in native rights issues which have earned him a great deal of respect from the Inupiat, Yupik, and other Alaska natives. Thirty four, tall, well built, and blonde haired, he is the love and light of my life.

“Be careful, Baby.” He told me as he left, as he has done every day since we met.

“I always am.” I said, just as I had also done every day.

I didn’t know that today would be the day that I let my guard down just a little, just enough. A small detail overlooked but in my business you don’t have that luxury and it cost me.

Dearly.

I take a look at myself in the mirror as I brush my hair. I’m five foot, seven inches, toned and slender, black hair and green eyes, the result of a mixed Hispanic/Irish heritage.

“You got it good, girl.” I say to my reflection. Thirty two years old, married to a wonderful man. I’m a successful and respected private investigator, a former Anchorage police officer. I loved the job but there are things a cop can’t deal with so I resigned. I still get called in on “special” cases, having developed a reputation as an authority in ritual or occult crimes: pentagrams on buildings, scenes of animal sacrifice. Usually the result of bored teenagers with too much time and too many black metal albums. The real shit isn’t found by the police, people like me make sure of that. I handle that on my own, no official involvement. People don’t need to know what really lurks out there, it’s easier for everyone if that stuff’s buried and I do my best to bury it deep. So deep that not even my husband knows what I really do.

Especially him.

I dressed in my usual outfit for a late autumn day: black turtleneck, jeans, and boots. I have a nice leather jacket I’ll wear too but first I need to get my gear on. My Glock 21 goes in its usual spot, a holster under my right arm. My private detective badge goes on my belt, and a case of pepper spray sits on my waist in a leather holster.

After everything is in place I go for the rest of my tools, the real ones. The ones normal people don’t get to see. Three sheathed daggers are strapped to my lower back. One is black and covered with red runes, sharp enough to cut through bones. The second is silver and almost as sharp, the third is ugly and crude, cold iron, dull.

Around my neck I place a Seal of Solomon and a Heptagram, both wrought in silver. Two vials of holy water go into a pouch on the inside of my leather jacket. A 12 inch rowan wand slipped into another pocket in the jacket completes my outfitting. I toss my wallet and cellphone into my purse, grab my car keys and walk out of my house and to my car.

For the last time.

20 minutes later found me sitting on the back of my Can-Am Spyder, looking at a not so nice duplex in Mountain View, one of the poorer neighborhoods in Anchorage. I’ve been following a lead on a guy I was pretty sure was one of the Damned, or had been before deciding to go full Void Seeker. Bad news, that. A Void Seeker in town meant someone was playing with the Old Names for real and the last thing I wanted was a Tear. Closing a Tear is a right bitch and not high on my list of things to do today. Quite the opposite, when I made my list of things to do I’m pretty sure I had put closing a Tear on the bottom of the page, right behind root canal or gyno appointment.

I keep track of Damned, like any good sorceress does. I know why they do what they do but I think they’re wrong at best, and damned dangerous, too close to stepping over from Damned to Void which happens far too often for my taste. Using the Old Names and peering into the Dark to see if the Sleepers still sleep isn’t good for sanity. The career of the Damned tends to be quick and brutish, and all too often ends at the hands of someone like me, assuming something from the Void doesn’t eat them first.

It’s nine in the morning on a Tuesday and even at that the neighborhood is loud and dangerous. A pretty chica like me is asking for trouble usually but I’m giving out a mild “don’t fuck with me vibe” so the rats are staying away. I figure the particular rat I’m looking for is probably sleeping, having spent the night doing something blasphemous and evil. Or he was watching Real Housewives. Or he’s out; I didn’t see any sign of him last night before heading home and the street in front of the house is empty, nothing moving in the duplex so I’m beginning to think he’s not here. That suits me just fine, all I want to do is get in and scope the place, look for proof of his being Damned or Void and get the hell out. Day time is safer for this kind of thing because his power will be limited if he is truly Void. If he’s Damned then he won’t be as limited but it’s still not his environment. If he’s Damned then I’ll tell him to get the hell out of town, follow my threat with a Levin bolt or two up his ass and then make sure he leaves. If he’s Void then I’ve got a fight on my hands and I’d rather it be on my terms, with the Eye of the Creator shining in the sky.

I take off my helmet and let my vision slip into other realms, other ways of seeing. What I see over the house is not reassuring. There’s a black aura over the duplex that’s extending from it and to the neighborhood itself. No wonder crime has shot up here to levels almost twice what they normally are, even in a dangerous place like Mountain View. The pulsating storm cloud is pure malice and it’d affecting the people here.

“This is bad. Shit and crap and damn.” I say under my breath. I’m almost positive this guy is a Void Seeker now and he’s pretty damn close to opening a Tear into the Abyss and drawing power from the Sleepers. I need to stop this bastard but good and the only way to do that is to kill him, there’s no other way to deal with a Seeker. They’re just too far gone and evil to do anything but. I’ll have to cleanse the area once I’m done and that means an invocation to the Elohim, something I am not prepared for. I’ll have to kill this fool then come back for the cleansing.

“No time like the present.”

I climb off the bike and make my way to the run down duplex, keeping an eye on the windows as I do. Still nothing. If this guy’s not home then I’ll wait for him, surprise him coming in the door and take him down hard and fast. I slip the Heptagram and Seal out from under my turtleneck as I get to the door, a little extra protection never hurts. Quietly I check the door and find it locked. A low word and a small click later and I’m pushing the door open slowly.

The smell from inside the house is blinding: rotting flesh, blood, viscera. This is bad. This guy has a play room somewhere and has been doing Really Bad Things in it. The Damned are bad for a reason, they think they’re doing good and saving the world at the cost of their own souls, the Void Seekers just want to see the whole world end and do things that make the John Wayne Gacy’s of the world seem amateurs to get to that point. Either way this guy needs to go.

Closing the door softly behind me I slip into the shithole. Trash litters the floor, there’s mold on the walls, half eaten food all over the place. Not only is he evil, he’s a disgusting slob. Burning this place to the ground would be a mercy.

Gun in left hand and wand in right I begin to go deeper into the house. I don’t look on the floor to see what I’m stepping in but I’m pretty sure these boots are going in the trash when I’m done. As I really like them this just pisses me off and hardens my resolve to put a hurting on this prick. The house is still quiet save for the little noise I make as I step on unspeakable crap. The front of the house is an open area: living area on the left, kitchen on the right. There’s a hallway ahead of me with a two doors on the right, and one dead ahead. The place is dark, very little light coming through the dingy windows in the kitchen and living room. I let my vision slip again and immediately pull it back as a wave of nausea nearly overwhelms me. The whole world seemed to turn on its side with the warped reality in here and now I’m sure this guy is a Void Seeker. Reality is too twisted here for him to be anything else. As I walk further down the hall the sick feeling intensifies, even though I’m just looking with normal vision. I come to the first door and open it slowly, gun pointing in front of me. It’s a closet, old clothes and other junk piled high. I move on to the next door which is open. A quick peek shows me a bathroom that’s best left unmentioned. One more room which has to be the bedroom. If he’s home then this is where he is. I raise the gun and walk forward, slowly and steadily. If there’s a lump in the bed it gets bullets. Then it gets Levin bolts, and then it gets fire. I’m not taking chances with this guy. The door is open, the room not as dark as the rest of the house; some of the slats of the blinds are broken and letting in some light.

I brace myself against the wall and take a breath. Not deep, the smell here is too bad for that, but it steadies me anyway. Then I round the corner, gun pointed at the empty bed. “Shit.” Is all I can say before I see it and have to turn away, the pain in my eyes, my head and my stomach too terrible for me to do anything but gag and stagger back. The Seal of the Void, right above the bed, on the wall in all its malignant glory. The Seal occupies my attention and keeps me from thinking of the one thing I overlooked: the shower curtain was closed….

Then there is nothing but pain and screaming and blood and I know, I know what he is before all thought fades. He’s a Void Seeker and a Skin Walker. It takes a long time for my screams to stop and pain is all I know before the merciful release of death comes.

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Comments

Very nice!

Reminds me of the Diana Tregarde novels I loved as a teen, with a bit of Anita Blake. I'm hoping to see a lot more of Rachel Torres, and can't wait to find out what happened after this!! Seems like a ghastly end... but there has to be more. There's more, right? You're not just getting my hopes up, are you? That would be a very unkind thing to do to a nice lady such as myself. :)

Now that would be telling.

Now that would be telling. ;)

Part II should be up this evening.

Though she died somehow her spirit/soul survived and maybe found

another body or how else could she be telling this story after the fact?

She did say early on this was the day she died.

John in Wauwatosa

P.S. NUMBER one rule of police work or evil monster hunting... NEVER work alone. Violate at your peril. And abandoned camps where terible mass murders have happened multiple times in the past are probably not good places to take your date.

John in Wauwatosa

Interesting

revolution's picture

Seems to have a "Mage: The Awakening" feel to it. a good read.

WOW

WOW what a great start for the story and I can't wait for chapter 2 you left us hagging now that she is dead where to next -- KUDOS --RICHIE2

This reminds me of Anita

This reminds me of Anita Blake... when it was a story and not a porno :D

Well... I fear for her hubby... I mean if the skinwalker has her skin, he might do nasty things to him.

This seems to be a very interesting story, I can't wait for the next chapter,

Beyogi

Okay, you have our

Okay, you have our attention, please, please more please.

Ouch! Not a good way to

Ouch! Not a good way to go.

Faraway


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Faraway


On rights of free advertisement:
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Where you can fool around like you want to and most you get is some bemused good ribbing!