The Dark Path Read online

  Waiting until the car to the left of him pulled slightly in front of him, Vain suddenly swerved the Ferrari to the right, jamming it into the police car positioned there. At the same time he fired the launcher through the Ferrari’s open driver’s-side window, hitting the police car on his left side perfectly.

  The resulting explosion proved too effective, blowing Vain’s car sideways and almost off the road. Luckily, he had still been maintaining their speed; otherwise they would have probably both been killed in the resulting blast. Instead, he sped away along the highway, leaving the remaining police cruisers screeching to a standstill and screaming into their radios for further instructions. For the time being, the pursuit ground to a halt.

  “Remind me to never use that thing again,” rasped Vain dryly, throwing the still smoking grenade launcher on top of the bag.

  Sebastian sat speechless. How could the Dark Man be so cold when he had just done something so horrible? Tears flowed freely down the young boy’s face.

  “Pull the car over now Dark Man,” said Sebastian between sobs.

  “I am,” said Vain calmly. He soon slowed and moved off the road into a busy car park before winding down the ramp to the underground level.

  “You killed him!” screamed Sebastian when they stopped.

  “We don’t have time for this boy; we have to get another car before they find us.”

  “I’m not going any further with you, murderer!” spat the boy. “Leave me here so I don’t have to witness any more of your killing.”

  Vain sat silently and contemplated the idea. The boy would probably be safe with the police. But even as he thought it, the image of Priest lying wounded on the mattress came back to him and he felt a strange tug inside him. Turning it over he realized it was guilt. Priest had entrusted him with the boy’s safety and now he pondered casting him to the wolves. The police couldn’t protect him from a fanatical group like the Souls of Sordarrah any more than the lost souls of Chapel.

  “Damn you boy!” roared Vain suddenly. “What are you doing to me? What kind of spell have you, and that black bastard cast on me?”

  “Spell? I don’t know any spells, Dark Man,” said Sebastian, fighting his shock at the Dark Man’s unexpected burst of venom.

  “Bullshit!” Vain bellowed. “Ever since I met the two of you I’ve been... confused. My life never seemed complicated before. I killed people and felt nothing; now I’ve got you whining to me every time I do something to keep you alive and it’s driving me crazy.”

  “And now you’re starting to feel bad about it,” whispered Sebastian in amazement.

  “No! I’m just sick of being judged by a boy barely old enough to wipe his own snot,” spat Vain.

  Sebastian sat reflecting on what had just transpired and decided not to push it any further for the time being. Without saying a word, he opened the door of the car and stepped out. When Vain didn’t respond, he leaned back into the window and said, “I don’t know a good one to take, can you give me a hand?”

  Vain looked back at the boy blankly before climbing smoothly out of the car and moving to the passenger side where he collected his bag. Shaking his head in frustration, the assassin followed the young boy through the parking lot to help him pick a car for them to steal.

  Chapter Eight: A Roman Holiday

  Arriving at the airport, the odd pair found it surprisingly quiet. Apparently there had been a terrorist attack against a police unit on the highway and several people had decided to cancel their flights.

  Vain still had the large bag of weapons to deal with. Finding a contact for weapons in Rome could prove difficult, but he didn’t want to risk being caught with them. Sneaking one or two weapons onto a plane was straightforward enough, but twenty or thirty created a different scenario. Especially with the threat of terrorist attacks lingering like a fart in an elevator.

  Ideally, Vain would have chartered a private flight to Rome, but he wanted to keep a low profile. Finally, he decided to leave all the weapons behind and fly commercially. He could probably have snuck through easily enough with the Glocks, but the security in the airport had been stepped up after his fiasco on the highway and he cursed himself for his stupidity.

  Unwilling to risk being searched in customs, Vain left the bag containing his weapons behind a huge terracotta vase before making his way to the counter and buying two first-class tickets on the next available flight to Rome.

  At least his blood money was useful for something.

  They waited in silence until their flight boarded, each feeling strangely comfortable with the other. It came as an odd sensation for the assassin. Normally loathe to spend even a few moments with another human being, sitting silently beside the boy began to seem natural for Vain and he felt reluctant to break that small comfort with talk of things to come.

  Finally they boarded their plane and took their seats in the first-class cabin at the front of the plane. Rising into the air, the strain from the last few days caught up with Vain and he nodded off to sleep.

  It seemed only moments later that he awoke to somebody yelling, and a woman’s scream. Opening his eyes a fraction; he glanced down the aisle, and saw the dead body of a stewardess lying in a pool of her own blood. Above her stood a man holding some sort of trigger in one hand and a bloodied knife in the other.

  “I am here to bring a message to the pigs in America!” yelled the man. “We will no longer stand for their capitalist propaganda in my country. I will kill everybody on board unless my demands are met!”

  Vain studied the man through his slitted eyes: no discernable ethnic origin, speaking with an American accent. Dressed in a dark grey suit, his seat had been only two from the front row. The would-be terrorist’s knife had come from the drinks tray, used to cut the lemons. The man couldn’t be a terrorist. Vain’s suspicions were confirmed when the man opened his shirt to reveal rows of what appeared to be explosives strapped to his chest.

  “I have two kilograms of C4 explosive here and if we do not turn this plane towards... err, Cuba... I will detonate it and kill us all!”

  Vain chuckled loudly, and the terrorist turned towards the sound.

  “Please be quiet, Dark Man,” whispered Sebastian, “I really don’t think we should get involved.”

  “We already are involved boy,” said Vain quietly, “And if these idiots listen to that dickhead it will disturb my plans. Just sit there and keep still.”

  “Please, just do one thing,” pleaded the boy. “Don’t kill him; he’s not really that bad, deep down.”

  Vain looked at the boy blankly for a moment before stepping boldly into the aisle of the plane. The terrorist turned towards the large figure in black standing before him and blinked quickly, unable to believe what he was seeing.

  “S-sit down asshole!” the man yelled nervously. “Sit down or I’ll blow this plane right out of the damn sky.”

  Vain calmly advanced on the terrorist. “How are you going to do that with a garage door remote control and two kilos of play-dough?” the assassin asked coolly.

  “B-b-but, no, it’s C4.” Sweat popped out on the man’s brow.

  “Please don’t treat me like these other cattle crammed into this tin box,” snarled Vain. He had almost reached the man now and stopped only a few feet short of where the terrorist stood nervously. “Now why don’t you be a good little boy and go sit down and play with your toys instead of scaring the other sheep.”

  The man remained frozen. Opposition to his scheme had obviously not been considered in his original planning. In fact, it seemed there had been very little planning involved in anything he had done up to this point.

  Suddenly he made a clumsy lunge at the Dark Man with his knife. Vain casually brushed the blade aside and delivered a lightning fast open-handed slap to the man’s cheek. The crack of the man’s jaw breaking echoed through the silent cabin, and the terrorist slumped unconscious to the floor. Vain knelt down and collected the blade from the aisle, pausing above the unconscious
figure as though uncertain of what to do next. He reached over to the chair beside him and cut the seatbelt straps to bind the man’s hands and feet.

  The entire cabin remained motionless and silent until the assassin stood and returned to his seat. When he sat, the passengers began to clap, slowly at first, but increasing in volume as the enormity of what had just happened began to sink in. Cabin crew members moved to ensure the man was secure before joining in the applause.

  Vain ignored the clapping, awaiting quiet and hoping to reclaim his sleep. Several passengers moved to try to shake his hand, but an ominous look from the assassin quickly returned them to their seats.

  “Thank you, Dark Man,” said Sebastian when the commotion had died down.

  “What for?” grunted Vain, keeping his eyes shut.

  “For not killing him. It was a good deed.”

  “I didn’t do it for you boy,” said Vain. “If I had killed him it would have raised too many questions. We’re going to have a hard enough time when we reach the airport. You ought to get some sleep.”

  “I think you did it for another reason.”

  “Oh yeah? Well I think you should shut up and stop thinking so much. The surgeon general says it may be hazardous for your health, especially around me.” With that he rolled over and effectively ended the conversation.

  Sebastian sat silently, a strange smile warming his face while looking at the assassin’s back. Turning to gaze out the window, he caught the first rays of light emerging on the horizon.

  * * * *

  Getting off the plane proved to be a task in itself. After the failed hijack attempt, the entire airport in Rome swarmed with both police and reporters, all wanting to see the hero who had saved the airplane.

  A hero who never appeared.

  Vain and Sebastian had slipped down into the baggage area shortly before the plane had landed, and the assassin had pried apart the access to the plane’s landing gear. Once the plane had stopped at the terminal, the two dropped to the ground and slipped out through the baggage handling area of the airport. In the car park, Vain stole a small hatch-back from one of the lots and the two had slipped away unnoticed.

  The city’s narrow streets were crowded, and it took them a couple of hours to get to St Peter’s Basilica. Once there, Vain asked one of the priests where they could find Father Armadeuso. When the man stared at him blankly, the assassin repeated the request in perfect Italian to which the man readily nodded, directing them to the rear of the compound where they found a small building set aside from the main.

  “I didn’t know you could speak Italian,” Sebastian mused as they walked to the building.

  “Neither did I,” muttered Vain.

  “How did you know it wasn’t a real bomb on the plane?”

  “I smelled it,” said the assassin simply. “Now don’t ask me any more stupid questions.”

  Sebastian grumbled something under his breath, and Vain stopped and looked at him. “I thought you were supposed to be some great holy guru or something. All I’ve seen so far is a little boy with too many questions and too much attitude. If you’re so special, why do you even need me to look after you? Why not just use your mighty magic bullshit and save yourself?”

  “I don’t have any magic Dark Man. I sometimes see things and know things that other people don’t, but it is nothing magical. As to being a guru, I have never claimed to be anything other than what I am; a boy with too many questions and too much attitude,” Sebastian finished sweetly with a wide smile.

  Vain momentarily glowered down at the boy before moving on towards the building in silence. Inside, a single hunched figure knelt in prayer. Sebastian waited at the doorway whilst the assassin approached him.

  “Are you Father Armadeuso?” growled Vain bluntly when the old man did not look up.

  “I am,” said the man.

  “Priest sent us to you.”

  “Which priest my son? There are many.”

  “Not a priest idiot. Priest from New York.”

  Father Armadeuso’s eyes widened in shock, both from the insult and the tone with which the assassin relayed it.

  “Priest sent you?” he gasped, rising swiftly from the floor. “And who might you be?”

  “That’s not important. This is the Avun-Riah and Priest said you could help us. I just hope you don’t start babbling on with more psychic bullshit. I’ve just about had my fill of it.”

  “Avun-Riah?” whispered Father Armadeuso, wonderment rippling through his eyes while appraising Sebastian. “I had not thought I would live to see the day.”

  “Yeah, well now you have,” said Vain impatiently. “Get over it.”

  “What is it I can do for you?” inquired the old priest.

  “How much do you know?”

  “Priest studied here with me for almost a year, trying to learn more about the Avun-Riah and the Souls of Sordarrah. I am the one who discovered the existence of Empeth.”

  “Well good for you,” retorted Vain. “When you finish patting yourself on the back, maybe you can tell us what to do. Priest is dead, and I think the Souls of Sordarrah might not be too far behind us.”

  “Priest is dead?” wheezed the old priest. “How did he die?”

  “Your Empeth turned up and got him when he was looking for us.”

  “Are you sure he is dead?” asked Father Armadeuso shakily.

  “Pretty sure. I’ve never known for men to live long after yodeling like Priest did.”

  “There are worse things than death, my son,” murmured the old priest. “And unfortunately the man you are facing is a master in many dark arts that would be better lost in the sands of time. I fear Empeth may be gathering The Four to come after you.”

  “The Four?” asked Vain.

  “Better known as the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Legend says they will ride across the Earth on the Day of Judgment.”

  Vain gazed expressionlessly at the priest. “Is there a special school where they send all you idiots to learn this bullshit?” he asked coldly. “If I hear any more talk of Days of Judgment or horsemen riding out of a two hundred thousand year-old bastard named Empeth’s ass I swear I’ll kill every mother-fucker in this place. Tell me something based on fact old man, or I’ll carve large holes in your head to help you understand me.”

  “You dare say these things in the house of God!” cried Father Armadeuso, making the sign of the cross.

  “I dare old man. Where is your God now? How strong will your faith be after I shred your carcass and piss in your skull?”

  “Who are you to say such things?” whispered the quivering priest.

  “I am Vain, old man,” the Dark Man hissed bitingly.

  Father Armadeuso paled and his hands began to shake. “Y-you’re an assassin,” he stammered. “Priest mentioned you, but I thought he was joking. You kill and torture people for money. You are evil personified. What was Priest thinking, enlisting your aid?”

  “I don’t know and I wish more than anything he hadn’t. But right now I’m all you’ve got, so you’d better get used to it.”

  The old priest swallowed heavily, pausing to let his nerves settle. “The people you are up against are zealots,” he began carefully. “They will stop at nothing to obtain the Avun-Riah. They believe their leader Empeth can summon demons in the guise of men, and that when the time is right he will summon The Four into the world of man. The Four will then kill the unbelievers and deliver the Avun-Riah to the place of atonement.”

  “Where is this place,” asked Vain.

  “The writings we have say nothing of its exact location, although they do mention a land in the West, possibly somewhere in America. When the child is sacrificed they assert the Earth will plunge into darkness for a thousand years, during which the impure will be cleansed, and only the true followers of Sordarrah will be left to inhabit the world.”

  Vain pondered the old man’s words. The Souls of Sordarrah were fanatical–he had already seen what their beliefs coul
d drive them to. The Four could be merely skilled assassins like himself–dangerous, but still vulnerable to death if it came down to it. If they wanted to have the boy back in America, simply staying away from there should eliminate the issue. After all, it was only months until the time of the sacrifice, and if they survived long enough they might have to hide no longer.

  “I need weapons old man, where can I find them?” asked Vain.

  “W-weapons?” responded Father Armadeuso incredulously. “What makes you think I would know anything about weapons?”

  “Why did that black bastard send me to you? Are you going to be any help at all or just continue rambling on about hocus-pocus bullshit?” sneered the assassin. “If you don’t know where I can buy guns, could you kindly point me in the direction of somebody who does?”

  Father Armadeuso ignored the Dark Man’s scorn. “I believe there is a gun shop owner on Portecelli Avenue who may be able to assist you. A man told one of the other priests in confession that he had bought some guns illegally from him about a month ago.”

  “I thought confession is supposed to be kept secret father. Do you treat all of the church’s sacraments so lightly?”

  The old priest shrugged his shoulders. “I think when you’re facing the end of the world, God won’t mind a few little slips along the way.”

  Vain fixed the priest with an impassive stare before grinning. “I may come to like you yet old man. Keep sinning for a few more years and we might even manage to be friends. Just try to avoid the temptation of those little altar boys.”

  Father Armadeuso grew speechless with rage while Vain walked off chuckling loudly, pausing at the door to collect Sebastian. “We need to stay here for a while, organize something while we’re out.”

  Father Armadeuso stood frozen to the spot for a long time after the two had disappeared. He wondered what was worse; the Avun-Riah in the hands of the Souls of Sordarrah, or under the protection of the Dark Man.