No Justice for the Damned (Tales from the Tarot)

17. Chapter 17

Chapter seventeen

T he ground of the abandoned parking lot hits hard, spewing dust and rubble and broken concrete, but my body is shielded, wrapped in Hollow’s arms. I’m not sure how he got to me so quickly, but I’m alive now because of him. Because he took the brunt of the fall’s impact. We lie there for a moment and a sudden bolt of fear shoots through me. Is Hollow…?

He grunts beneath me, I can feel his steady, labored breathing. Though the breath was knocked out of me, I’m unhurt. Thanks to him. He sacrificed his own body to break my fall. Fucking Hollow.

I turn to look at him, terrified of the shape he’ll be in. He’s gritting his teeth, eyes clenched closed, but otherwise seems unharmed. I lean in, hand gently cupping his cheek. “Hollow,” I whisper. “Fuck, are you…”

He cracks an eye open and smiles, though it’s strained. “Alive,” he grits out.

“You’re an idiot,” I say.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He nods. His eyes slip closed again. “Give me a minute to…stop hurting.”

But up above us, I know Father is alone with Abe. I can’t let him take Abe away. I struggle to my feet as the sky around us seems to darken even further, though it was broad daylight only a moment ago.

I lost the gun in the fall, not that it did any good anyway. I fish my knife out of my belt, knowing it too will prove useless against Father. But it’s at least something. Anything.

And then I feel his presence. I plant myself in front of Hollow, a human shield, though a useless one. Father is coming to finish what he started.

He’s like a demon, a monster, an unearthly thing, as he steps off the roof and begins to levitate down to the ground. His form seems to suck up all light, turning everything around him dark and lifeless. And as he lands softly, effortlessly, my stomach sinks. He’s holding Abe in his arms, pressed tight against his broad chest.

“No,” I whisper, voice catching. “No, please.”

Father moves toward us and I see the faint outline of his white-toothed smile even through the void that swirls around him. “You’ve lost,” Father’s voice echoes. “I’ll take my prize. But not before I end you both. Filthy, ungrateful whores.”

The lot is just as empty as when I first arrived, but still my eyes scan our surroundings for anyone who might see, who might come to our aid. There’s no one. But Delilah remains, glittering just out of reach. If I can just get Abe to Delilah, get him away from here…

“Leave Abe out of this,” I all but beg. “Take me instead.”

Father chuckles, the sound reverberating deeply all around us. “You’re worth nothing to me. It’s always been him. But you knew that, didn’t you?”

It hurts still, to hear those words. Even though I hate him, even though I know the truth.

“It has to be him,” Father continues. “My greatest love, my greatest sacrifice.”

“You’re not touching either of them,” Hollow hisses from behind me, and before I know it, he surges back to his feet, darting at Father with arms outstretched.

Unceremoniously, Father throws Abe’s body to the side. He hits the concrete hard and my stomach lurches. As Father and Hollow collide, I steel myself and force my petrified limbs to move. To get closer to Abe, to protect him, to get him loaded onto Delilah and remove him from this mess.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Hollow change. Similar to Father, his aura darkens and his eyes start to glow yellow, gleaming crystals that shine in the low light. He becomes a demon to match Father, claws growing and grasping from the ends of slim fingertips. But where Father is cold, sucking the life out of everything around us, Hollow is pure electric heat, a swirling mass of frenetic energy. I can feel when their bodies connect, when Hollow releases a burst of that potent electricity that Father matches head on with his own ray of cold.

I stumble through the darkness, through the tension, as two demons wage war only a few feet away. Still, I focus on nothing but Abe. Abe. Abe. But as I get closer, Father steps into my path, blocking me from my brother. “Where do you think you’re going?” he hisses. I want to scream for Abe to wake up, to run, but my voice is sealed inside my mouth. Is it the fear? I don’t know if I’ve ever felt so afraid as now, when Father stares down at me, his face a gaping maw, unrecognizable.

Without warning, he backhands me hard and I stumble away from Abe, my knife skipping out of my hand to land a few feet away. As I hit the concrete on my knees, pain ricochets through me, radiating up my body and all through my limbs. I gasp, struggling against the agony as Father appears behind me, poised to strike again, only for Hollow to lunge.

Father is knocked off his feet, the two of them crashing to the concrete, fumbling against one another. As they grapple, their shifting forms meld like wisps of smoke coalescing and churning and swirling and burning.

As mesmerizing as their dance is, Abe is now only a few inches from me. I move to cradle him, to touch his face. “Abe,” I urge him. “Abe, wake up.”

The time for gentleness, for coddling has passed. I shake his shoulders then, slap his cheek. “Wake up,” I persist as the growls and hisses of Hollow and Father’s confrontation resound in my ears. Abe’s eyelids flutter and he shifts under my hands. He lets out a little groan whether from pain or merely the struggle to wakefulness, I can’t be sure. I continue.

“Abe. Wake the fuck up.”

“Mmm…” he mumbles and bats my hands away. “Stop being so loud.”

My heart could soar out of my chest. I hug him to me, kissing his hair, whispering into his ear. “Oh fuck, thank God. Abe.”

“What…” His eyes open, big and bright and blue and I’m suddenly overwhelmed with emotions. Tears begin to fall down my face and I gasp as I sob and laugh and hold him.

But across the street, I hear a shriek, loud and inhuman and absolutely feral, and look up to see Father’s shadowy features curled in rage. He claws from beneath Hollow’s body, where he’s pinned, trapped, bleeding. I see the gaping wounds like tears in fabric, bleeding freely even as he snarls and snaps and reaches for us. For Abe.

“Abraham!” Father cries out. “Abraham!”

Abe lifts his head as his mouth falls open. A gasp escapes his lips as he backs up against me in an obvious attempt to get away from the thing that screams his name. “What—”

“Abraham! Abraham!” Father’s words are silenced as Hollow grips his face with an open palm and shoves his head back to the concrete. Father’s body jolts, seizing as Hollow’s power surges into him. It sounds like lightning hitting the ground, like the sizzle of a fried egg in a pan.

Abe is shaking as he huddles into me, as I slide a hand beneath his arm to help him to his feet and urgently cart him away from the violence, the absolute horror. “Please tell me that isn’t…” he whispers.

“You need to go. You need to get on Delilah and get as far away from here as you can. Do you understand?” I fight to ignore the trembling of my limbs, the tremor in my voice as I dig in my pocket for my keys and put them in Abe’s palm. Abe is what matters. Getting Abe as far away from here as possible.

He blinks, swallowing and wavering, his eyes still locked on the sight of Hollow and Father, two monstrous forms locked against one another, like something out of a horror movie. Something unreal. “Alexis,” he says. “Where is Alexis?”

“He’s safe. I promise. I’ll explain everything later. But right now, please. Do as I say. There’s a store called The Magic Shop right across the street from Club Orpheus. Get there and stay there. Do you understand?”

He pauses as if taking in everything I’ve just said. Then, he looks at me with narrowed eyes. “What about you?”

“I…” I can’t leave Hollow. Not after what the Owner said about his power. His soul. Not after he saved my life.

“I’m not leaving you.” Abe’s gaze has hardened now, becoming set and determined. And I love him so much in that moment. My brother. My reason for living, the one thing I’ve tried my whole life to protect.

“You have to,” I say, forcing every bit of severity and strength I have into those three words. “I need you to go, Abe.”

“But you—”

“I can’t leave Hollow.” Because even in spite of everything, Hollow has given me a new reason, a new purpose. He’s given me something else to fight for. “He needs me.”

“What help can you be?” Abe blurts out and for a moment, I think he’s right. Hollow and Father clash like two titans, their powers beyond human comprehension. But it’s more than what I can provide with my body and any weapons at my disposal. I can bring him back to himself. I can stop him from succumbing to his own darkness.

“I can save him,” I say. “You have to trust me. Please. I need to do this.”

He grits his teeth in frustration. I can see the wavering indecision in his drawn expression, the way his brows pinch in disdain. “I don’t understand, Kill.”

“I know. And you don’t need to. Right now, you just need to trust me. And go. Please.”

Abe swallows and I see the resignation cross his face as behind us Father wails like a baleful hound. “Abraham!” he screams and digs his claws into Hollow’s shoulder so the tips protrude through his back. Blood spews from Hollow’s lips and he chokes out a warning as Father roars and attempts to pry his way closer to Abe. His eyes burn like rubies and his mouth is a gaping maw, all sharp teeth and venomous spittle.

“Go. Now.” I shove Abe toward Delilah and finally, he doesn’t argue. Finally, he moves with purpose, mounting my bike as he turns the key, already in the ignition, and revs her into life. I feel like I can catch my breath as I watch him look back only once more before speeding away.

Father screams and as I turn back to where he and Hollow grapple on the ground, to see that he’s now gained some purchase, knocking Hollow back with a blow to his jaw. He stares at me with hatred in his eyes. “You did this! You turned him against me!”

He lashes out again and Hollow takes another blow, this one landing him on his back. I see the decision in Father’s eyes. His thoughts churning as he weighs who he wants to hurt more. Hollow. Or me.

But before he can lunge, I notice something glinting in the low light. My knife. Just beyond my reach, past Father’s looming form. I don’t think, don’t hesitate. I throw myself toward it with as much speed and agility as I can muster.

Father screeches, something between a scream and a snarl and darts after me, arms and claws outstretched as I collapse to the sidewalk and gather the knife in my fist. As I whirl to defend myself from Father’s grasp, Hollow is already up again, rushing to my rescue, preventing Father from tearing into me with deadly claws and fangs.

He hauls Father back, away from me, putting distance between us. Enough to keep me safe, out of harm's way as he resumes raining blow after blow down on Father, as though the rage of seeing Father threaten me was enough to refuel his strength. I can only watch as Hollow descends on Father with all the ferocity of a ravenous animal, or more truly the heinous, demonic creature he’s slowly morphing into right in front of me eyes.

He tears into Father with fangs like knives and begins to ravage him, ripping his flesh so blood shoots out like a torrent. And though Father screams and attempts to throw him off with defensive blows of his own, it's to no avail. Hollow is winning. Killing him. Soon, he will have achieved his revenge.

And as I sit there, holding my knife in my hand, watching this all unfold, I remember what The Owner told me. What Hollow himself admitted. Once Hollow’s revenge is complete, once he’s taken Father’s life, he’ll lose himself to the darkness of his own power. And I’ll lose Hollow. Or the Hollow I’ve come to know. I can’t let him do this. I can’t see him lose his soul and become like Father.

I’ll break the ring. Break the ring. Unleash the souls. Be consumed by those I’ve consumed. I’ll end my life before I lose myself entirely. I won’t live like he does.

I can’t let that happen. Father has to die, yes. He has to pay for his sins. But Hollow won’t join him in that fate. Not if I can help it.

I approach with wide eyes and unsteady limbs, unable to tear my eyes from the way Hollow pounds Father’s head into the concrete, over and over again. Blood stains the pavement. Wisps of smoke and ash swirling around them both. Two demons locked together, melding into one another as each works to destroy the other.

I slip my knife into my pants pocket and put my hands out in a gesture of surrender. “Hollow,” I breathe. “Hollow, you have to stop.”

He growls in response, as if acknowledging my words, but refusing to accommodate. As if he’s too deeply lost to the madness of his revenge.

Still, I edge ever closer, holding my empty hands out. “Hollow,” I continue to say his name. To attempt to bring him back to himself. “Hollow. Listen to me. You have to stop.”

Father’s body has gone lifeless, completely still, as the haunted remnants of his demonic form slowly fade to reveal the man beneath. His handsome face swollen and bruised and bloodied, the fabric of his cassock torn, shredded past the point of repair. Hollow’s claw-like hand comes to settle over Father’s face, holding it to the ground, while his chest heaves in exertion, a war raging in his mind. To continue with his revenge, or to listen to the desperate pleas of the man who beseeches him to stop.

“Hollow, if you kill him now, you’ll lose yourself. You know you will. You told me as much. Listen to me, it’s not worth it. He’s not worth it. There has to be another way to make him pay for what he did. Becoming like him isn’t the revenge you deserve. Not the revenge any of them …any of us …deserve. It would be giving him what he wants. To take you down with him.”

He groans, a long and desperate whining sound, like an animal in pain. “Get back, Killian.” His voice is low, gravelly, otherworldly. I can barely detect Hollow within it.

But I continue to move forward, holding my hands out to him. I see a hint of those golden eyes shifting to observe my forward movement. “Please,” I all but whisper. I’m close enough to touch him now. I kneel beside him, beside Father’s immobile body and place a hand on his shoulder. “Please don’t do this. There has to be another way.”

“Kill…” The way he says my name is strained, desperate, as if he’s fighting against his own urges. And it hurts him to do so. “I can’t. There isn’t.”

“Trust me,” I persist. “I don’t want to lose you. I just found you. I can’t lose you already.”

Those words seem to bring him back to me, even in the smallest way. I see a flash of his face behind the swirling, writhing mask of horror. Those bright eyes blink at me behind thick lashes and I see his full lips cock into his signature smirk. My heart skips a beat. He’s still with me, whole and alive and unchanged.

“You trying to save my soul, Kill?” The playful lilt has returned to his voice, replacing the inhuman drawl. He’s coming back to himself and I can’t help but return his smile.

“Is there a soul to save?” I throw back.

“If there is, it’s yours.”

I feel my cheeks flush and force myself to turn my gaze to Father’s unmoving, unconscious body where it lies between Hollow’s thighs. His left hand rests defenseless at his side. The ring in full view, unprotected, vulnerable for the taking. For the destroying. And just a few feet away, a pile of rubble from where Hollow and I landed. A large, thick piece of concrete, perfect for smashing something so small, so delicate, into bits. If we destroy the ring, will we destroy the man? Will breaking it really end Father’s life? Can it be that simple?

Hollow meets my eyes, following my gaze. And then he nods. He doesn’t move to act first, to take the ring for himself. He gives me the control and my heart squeezes in my chest. He’s giving me this moment, this final moment of his revenge. And allowing me to be the one to act.

He trusts me that much. I’m determined to be worthy of that trust. To be responsible for saving us both.

I reach for the ring, begin to slip it off Father’s finger.

It happens so quickly, I don’t have time to react. The ring is nearly off when Father shoots up, eyes snapping open, demonic form re-emerging and claws outstretched stabbing directly through Hollow’s chest.

Hollow chokes up blood and falls back as Father lunges forward and shoves him to the concrete. Then, he whirls back around to seize me by the hair and wrench me to my knees. My neck is exposed, my eyes on Hollow, who despite the fresh, bleeding wound to his chest, is returning to his feet and facing us. He glowers, growing larger and larger in his rage, losing all hints and traces of the man I saw only moments ago. He burns like a million embers, like a demon from the depths of hell. He’s terrifying, pulsating with darkness, like a shadow that seeks to devour everything around it.

“Let him go,” Hollow snarls.

“He’s worth nothing to me. Not anymore. His one redeeming quality was his devotion. And now he’s proven that even that was a falsehood. But seems he’s worth something to you.”

As I watch the exchange play out between them. I begin to slip one hand into my pocket. Slowly, so as not to draw any attention to myself. I finger the closed blade, attempting to pry it open, to ready it for the opportune moment.

“Let him go,” Hollow says again, his voice like an echo. Like the vibration of a pipe organ as it cuts through the air.

“What if I don’t? What if I kill him instead?”

Hollow hisses, the darkness of his radiating form seeming to shoot outward, a warning. “I’ll kill you.”

“But not before I kill him.” He strokes my neck with a clawed finger. “And it will be worth it to see the look on your face. To taste your pain one more time.”

Hollow wavers as he looks at me, likely imagining what that would be like. The pain of watching me die. I try to meet his eyes, to will him to be strong. Not to allow Father to get the better of him. “What do you want?” he rasps.

“Your ring.”

Hollow pauses, his body going completely still.

“No,” I say to Hollow, ignoring the tightening of the fist around my throat. “Don’t, Hollow.”

Nails dig into my flesh, making speaking impossible. Breathing impossible. “The ring,” Father persists, holding his palm out face up. Expectant. “Now. Or he dies.”

Tears come to my eyes. I try to shake my head but I can’t move. I choke and sputter, gasping for air, feeling my head go fuzzy. Father’s demonic presence is consuming me and suddenly I’m trembling. I know I’m dying.

And through the fog, I see Hollow slipping his ring off his finger. All his monstrosities, all his horrors, fall away to reveal the beautiful, disheveled, wounded man underneath. The one I caught a glimpse of only a moment ago. As though with the removal of that one small trinket, so too goes all his power.

He moves to place the ring in Father’s palm.

And I react with all the strength I have left, wrenching the knife from my pocket and slicing it through Father’s fingers. It cuts through his little and ring fingers easily, detaching them from his palm, sending his ring cascading to the concrete below. He screams in shock and pain, throwing me forward as blood spews from his fresh wound in a faucet of red.

Even in his agony and desperation, his eyes dart for his fallen ring. We spot it at the same time, shooting forward simultaneously, but I’m quicker. Of course I am. I snatch it from the ground as he falls to his knees.

He screams in frustration, holding his wounded hand in the other to attempt to stifle the bleeding, his lower lip trembling, looking all at once every bit the old man he truly is. Without his ring, he looks powerless, weak, once blond hair now white, wrinkles lining the pale, paper thin skin of his face. “Killian,” he burbles. “Please. Give it back. I wasn’t going to…I would never truly hurt you. I love you, my sweet boy. My good boy. My son.”

He shuffles toward me on his knees, tears streaming down his face.

“Please,” he begs. “You don’t know. You don’t know what I’ve had to go through. What my life was like before. I had to. I had to do it. I would have been nothing. I would have had nothing.”

A wave of disgust shoots through me as I hold his ring tight in my hand. “So you took from those with nothing.”

“I had to! I didn’t want to! I never meant to hurt anyone! Especially not you! Not your brother.”

I don’t care. About any of his excuses. Why he is the way he is, why he’s done what he’s done. None of it matters. It would surely all be lies anyway. I tune out his blubbering as I feel Hollow’s gaze. He doesn’t move to interfere. The second time he’s trusted me to do what’s necessary. Perhaps he knows I need this just as much as he does.

Both of our eyes fall to the block of concrete just a few feet away. Without a second thought, I dive toward it.

Father hisses and shoots after me only to be restrained as Hollow lunges and wraps strong arms around Father’s chest. As I reach the debris, I drop the ring, watching Father’s mouth fall open. As he howls and pleads, I bring the slab down on top, smashing the ring into the ground. Again and again, until I can hear it crunch, can feel it give between the thick concrete and the hard ground.

A strange noise like a gasp, like a hiss, but completely inhuman, escapes as the ring shatters. Father’s mouth falls open and he lets out a horrified, desperate mewl, like an animal being slaughtered. He grips his face in clenched fists, tugging at his hair, nails running down his cheeks, everything stretched and stricken.

And then something begins to trickle forth from the ring, elongated, mist-like, almost demonic, like wisps of smoke with claws and gnashing teeth. Hundreds of them. Thousands. Darker than the darkest night, than a million shadows, they crawl toward Father without faltering.

The shapes resemble humans. Ghosts. They’re eyeless, faceless, shadows, echoes of the humans they once were—twisted distortions of the human form. Human souls that Father trapped to increase his own power. Souls Father sold and tortured and killed all to satiate his own dark needs. And now he faces them at long last. They crawl and creep and hiss toward him, and all Father can do is scream as he begins to be consumed.

It’s a truly horrific sight, his skin being wrenched and pulled and torn apart, the meat of him being consumed and absorbed until he’s nothing but a whittled husk of a human being, a gaping maw, like a tanned hide stretched too thin. As the souls lay waste to his tormented body, he becomes completely unrecognizable, almost mummified. And by the time it's done, he looks like a corpse that’s been left too long in extreme sunlight.

And then it stops. The shadows seem to pause, to shift and recoil and for a moment, I almost feel them watching me. My heart pounding, my body trembling, I turn my gaze to Hollow’s. He’s looking only at Father. Or rather, the mutilated husk where Father used to reside.

He lies there in front of me, and I know he’s dead. No human life could exist in the body’s that’s left. His eyes, once so vibrant and blue, are empty, sunken sockets. He’s shriveled, gray as though he’s been drained of life and sustenance completely. I want to throw up.

I realize the shadows are still there, still watching. My breath catches as I whisper, “You’re free now.”

I don’t know if they hear me or register my words. Or if they’re on another plane entirely, one that Hollow and I can barely comprehend. But they begin to dissolve and fade away, shimmering as they disappear into the atmosphere. And I can’t help but feel some small sense of relief, as though some part of me, of my dark past, is being released with them.

I wonder if Hollow feels the same.

For the first time since I’ve seen him, I watch as a lone tear falls down his face, trickling past the scales of justice, to pool on his chin. Gingerly, I make my way over to him, stumbling slightly, my body weak and sore. He watches me approach and his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows back a lump of emotion we both feel.

He opens his arms to me and I step inside, allowing him to hold me, to pull me tight to him. We sink to our knees together on the concrete, holding onto each other for dear life.

“He’s dead,” I whisper.

“You did it,” he says back. I feel him press a kiss to my scalp.

“He’ll never hurt anyone again.” I can’t help looking once more at his mutilated remains. It’s the most horrifying thing I’ve ever seen and yet, it fills me with a sense of peace. A sense of justice.

“It’s not over yet,” Hollow says. His palm scales my cheek, brushing a stray lock of hair from my face. I notice a glint of gold, his ring once again on his finger.

“I know that. But it’s a good start.”

He nods in agreement. His golden eyes sparkle in the renewed sunlight. It begins to peek through the clouds, the rays of a day reborn. “It’s a good start.”