Sympathy for the Demon

Sympathy for the Demon

Written by Darke Conteur

Copyright 2013 Dark Conteur Collection of Works

Smashwords Edition

For more information on the author,

Please visit

www.wordpress/darkeconteur.com

Special Thanks to:

Calista Taylor for the cover design.

Karen Lawson for editing services.

&

Marion Archer for the second look.

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Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Chapter One

There but for the Grace of God, go I.

Martin Cunningham couldn't get the phrase out of his head. He heard it back in college; one of his professors said it matter-of-factly before a class, but for some reason this particular phrase kept repeating in his mind tonight. It wouldn't be all that bad if it weren't putting a damper on his night out with the guys. Nothing killed a fun evening of drinking like a pesky Victorian-era phrase that had nothing to do with what he was doing.

Finally, a chance to be normal. For the first time in almost a year, Martin was out with people who didn't experience supernatural occurrences on a daily basis. None of the three guys who walked ahead of him had ever been chased by members of a demonic cult, or could lob fireballs at a portal to hell that swirled above their heads. His stomach gurgled and he rubbed the lower part of his abdomen. It was a sure bet none of them had ever been in battle for their life with a scrayling either. This was his night to cut loose with the boys and if it weren’t for the below-freezing temperatures and the slush and snow on the ground, the night would be pretty awesome. Mind you, doing a pub crawl in the middle of winter was interesting in its own way. It took great skills to leap over snow banks drunk, and still remain standing on the other side. The wet patch on the right side of Martins jeans hinted he wasn't as skilled as he thought he was.

So, what exactly is it you do again? one of the young men asked, as he tried to navigate a straight line down the sidewalk. Mike Tyler had a mop of brown hair that hung down over his eyes and there were hints of frost in his beard.

I'm the Public Relations officer for Terin Global. Martin slipped on a patch of ice. He really should have worn boots instead of dress shoes.

I can't believe you got that cushy job. Brandon Hall singed some of his blonde hair as he lit up a cigarette. You didn't even major in business.

Martin shrugged. I guess I have talents only they could see.

Brandon snorted, and elbowed the third guy, Jeremy Maher. Yeah, like you need talent to talk to reporters.

Hey, that does take skill. You have no idea how annoying some of those guys can be. Especially that anchorman. He's just a jerk. And I hate that theme music of theirs.

They laughed and stumbled their way to the corner of York and Dalhousie. Brandon and Jeremy broke off from the group and headed down Dalhousie Street.

Martin frowned. Hey guys, where are you going?

Gotta go home, Martin, Jeremy said. We don't have a cushy job where we can stroll in any time we want.

Yeah, Brandon turned and started walking backward. Some of us have real bills and real responsibilities.

Hey, I have responsibilities! Martin yelled. I have to pay for the damages in my apartment.

They waved him off as they walked away, but Mike stayed behind. He stepped up beside Martin and took a long drag off his cigarette.

Don't listen to those assholes, Martin, he said. A mixture of smoke and steam puffed out from his mouth and floated past Martin. They're just jealous you got the job they wanted.

Martin scrunched up his nose, waving the smoke away with his hand. How do you know?

Are you kidding me? Mike motioned to the two men as they disappeared around a corner. "You should have seen them after the interview you did at the Russian Embassy? They were pretty pissed you got the job. Brandon was going around telling people that if it wasn't for him, you wouldn't even know about the job opening at Terin Global."

Martin was hurt as he glanced back down the street. That's bullshit! I was with him when he was going through the want ads in the paper. I didn't even want to send my resume there. He's the one who said I had nothing to lose!

A satisfied smile washed over Mike's face. I told him you must have been more qualified.

What did he say?

Mike turned away and stepped off the curb. You don't wanna know.

Martin scoffed. More qualified. That's putting it mildly.

They walked across Rideau and headed up Dalhousie Street. It felt odd being out at night, especially after what happened back at his apartment, but Aslin assured him the amulet he wore around his neck would protect him from any more attacks. He touched the middle of his chest and felt the cold metal under his shirt. So far, he was right.

So what happened to your apartment anyway? Mike asked. How the hell did you blow out a whole wall?

The large amounts of alcohol made it hard for him to come up with any explanation that sounded reasonable. It was an experiment.

In what? Explosives?

Something like that. I was testing something out and it kinda backfired.

Mike stopped and faced him. Something for Terin Global?

No, just doing stuff on my own. Martin noticed the concern on his face. What is it?

What's going on?

What do you mean?

Ever since you started working at that company, you're all weird and stuff.

Weird? Whadya mean weird? I'm not weird.

Well everything else is. Mike took a long drag off his cigarette. First, you not only apply for, but get a job we both know you're not qualified for.

Hey! I thought you were on my side.

Martin, you majored in computer programming and software. How the hell does that qualify you for a job as the firm's PR guy?

Well it did.

Whatever. Now you tell me you're doing weird experiments that have you blowing up your apartment—our old apartment, and to top things off, you moved into Terin Global. What gives?

Martin looked into Mike's eyes. He might have sounded angry, but there was nothing but confusion and concern in his expression.

Yeah, I guess that does sound rather dodgy.

Mike frowned. Rather dodgy? Who talks like that? Mike looked around. Look, I can understand why you wouldn't tell Jeremy and the fem-bot, but this is me, Martin. We've been friends since grade school. There was a concerned look in his eyes. You can tell me.

No, Mike I can't.

Martin turned away. The urge to expose everything was building up. Some days he felt like he would explode if he didn't tell someone. Sure, he could talk to Barb or Daniel. Even Aslin opened up more to him, but it wasn't the same as talking to your best buds about things. Getting their take on stuff. He wondered what Mike would say if he knew. How would he handle it? Would he believe him or think he was nuts? Barb's image came to his mind. She was willing to give up her freedom to keep Terin Global from being exposed, and here he was, ready to spill the beans after a night out drinking with the guys.

Martin lowered his gaze. Look, it’s personal. You mind if we don't talk about it?

Mike was disappointed, but a small smile creased his lips. Sure buddy, but just so you know, if you ever want to get things off your chest, I'm here for ya.

Martin smiled. Thanks.

And I promise, I won't tell Captain Blondie and Dick Face any of it.

Speaking of weird, what's with the name calling? I thought you three lived together?

We did, but they kicked me out a while back.

Why?

I don't know. Every time they started whining I tuned them out.

That sounded familiar. So where are you staying now?

With some friends over on Nelson. Did the landlord charge you with anything?

Martin shook his head. No. Considering it was my fault, we settled out of court.

Well it was pretty nice of your boss to let you stay at work. How long are you staying there?

That was the question. How long would he have to stay there? Until all this was over? For the rest of his life? What if he wanted to get married and start a family? There was no way he could raise children in that place.

I don't know. I'm just taking it one day at a time for now.

Good idea. That's like me. I don't want to plan my life out. I'd rather stay free and move with the wind.

Sure, whatever.

They crossed Clarence and Martin headed toward a small pub with a lot of noise coming from inside. So, what’d ya say—one more stop then call it a night? He turned toward the street, but Mike was walking farther down the sidewalk.

Hey, where are you going?

Mike turned around and stopped. I thought we were going to my place.

Martin stood at the pub entrance. I guess.

He ran to catch up with Mike, but the faster Martin went, the farther his friend travelled. He stopped at the entrance to the back parking lot of St. Brigid Church. It was dark with the only light coming from the windows of the nearby three-story apartment buildings. Martin glanced from one apartment building trash bin to another, focusing on the long shadows that stretched out into the center of the lot. With trees, parked cars, and picnic benches, there were too many obstacles for his liking. Too many places for things to jump out and grab him. His abdomen began to ache and he rubbed it along the scars he knew were there.

Isn't' there another way? he asked, as Mike walked up the driveway.

Mike stopped. It's just a parking lot, ya big baby. Nothing to be afraid of.

I don't know. You never know what's hiding in the shadows.

Mike frowned. What the hell are you talking about? He walked back to Martin. You used to love going out at night.

Well, that was then. I don't care for it now.

Wow, that job sure has changed you. Mike turned and walked away. Oh, look at me. I'm Martin Cunningham. Mister High and Mighty PR guy for Terin Global. I'm out slumming with my old roommate so he doesn’t think I'm avoiding him on purpose.

I'm not avoiding you. Martin took an uneasy step forward. In case you hadn't noticed, I've been a little busy the last few months. Do you have any idea what kind of pressure I'm under? I've got the cops breathing down my neck about two murder investigations. The company is being investigated on a pile of other charges. Then, when I do get a night off to go out with my friends, I get harassed because I'm not spending enough time with you? Seriously?

Mike held up his hands and backed off. Hey, easy dude. I was just telling you what was wrong with the other guys. Personally, I'm glad you're doing so well, and just so you know, I couldn't give a shit what the other guys think. Like I said, they're jealous.

Mike turned and headed farther up the driveway. Come on, I got some beers at my place.

Martin followed, but kept a close eye on the shadows. Truth was, this night out meant a lot to him. Things were getting too tense around Terin Global and he jumped at the chance to get away, even if it was for a few hours. Living there took a little getting used to. His new accommodations were twice the size of his apartment, and even though Daniel said it was nothing to worry about, the strange noises Martin heard in the hall at night didn't do much to ease his mind about what else lived there.

So, what's going on with that cemetery murder case anyway? Mike asked, as they crossed King Edward Avenue. I heard you guys are defending the only suspect?

She's innocent, Martin said. Just at the wrong place at the wrong time.

I didn't say she wasn't. Just seems kinda strange you guys jumped to her defence. He looked over at Martin. People think you guys are involved in some way.

We're involved in all kinds of ways…

No, we just wanted to make sure she had proper representation. Is that so strange?

Um, for a big megacorporation, yeah actually, it is.

Martin pulled his coat closer to his body and kept a close eye on the shadows from the row of nearby houses. Why? Why is it people think it's suspicious because a global company wants to do something good for the community? Can't we be involved? Can't we help out those who need it?

Mike didn't answer. Martin stopped and looked around. Mike was standing several yards behind him, staring off in the distance, frowning.

Martin walked back. What's wrong?

Don't you hear it?

He tilted his head to one side. Hear what?

The singing.

What singing?

There's a woman singing.

There is?

Yes! Mike's face lit up. Martin, it's the most beautiful voice I've ever heard.

A shiver ran up Martin's spine and his gut hurt again. Come on, Nelson's the next street. Let's get outta here.

Mike turned and walked back the main roadway. I have to find her.

Who?

The woman who's singing!

Why?

So I can tell her how beautiful her voice is!

Martin followed his friend along several more streets and every part of him screamed to turn and walk away, but this was his friend. They'd known each other since high school, and went to college together. Sure, Mike was the reason Martin didn't want any more roommates, but that didn't mean he could let him walk off into the night into who knows what. Not when his better judgement was telling him to turn and run.

He caught up to him on the corner of Bruyere and Rose Street, still staring off into the sky. Martin watched him closely. The enthralled look on his face made him think Mike was either hypnotised or in some kind of a trance, and neither made him feel any better about the situation. Martin kept quiet, straining to hear some kind of singing over the downtown traffic, but nothing came to him.

He followed Mike to Bordeleau Park, but stopped short on the curb. This wasn't right. They'd travelled almost four blocks. No human could sing that loud, and why couldn't he hear it?

Hey, Mike, come on. Leave it. Didn't you say there were beers at your place?

I have to find her, Martin.

The scars on Martin's gut ached. He'd been a part of the supernatural world long enough to know that aches and pains should damn well not be ignored. It's the alcohol. You're hearing things. That's not singing. It’s ringing in your ears from the loud music.

Mike didn't answer as he strolled along the cement walkway and deeper into the park. Martin raced across the street, dodging a few cars. Several car horns blared as he ran, but Mike didn't stop. If anything the commotion made him walk faster. He was a good fifteen yards ahead when Martin entered the park.

Martin stopped at the entrance. He'd been here before with his friends, but something felt different about the area now. The skin on the back of his neck began to tingle and Martin rubbed his neck and shoulders out of frustration. He shouldn't be here, neither of them should, but he just couldn't leave.

As he raced into the park, he desperately scanned the landscape for any sign of movement. Human or otherwise. A burning sensation replaced the ache and increased Martin's panic. Even though the pink scars on his abdomen from the scrayling attack were fading, Martin would never look at the night, or shadows the same way.

The brisk night breeze caused his eyes to water and Martin rubbed away some of the wetness with the sleeve of his jacket. He dashed along the walkway until he came to the center of the park, but no Mike. Full-blown panic was setting in as he ran past benches and garbage cans. Then, on the far side of the park, down by the water, Martin could see the outline of a person just out of range of the bright streetlight.

A weight lifted off his shoulders as Martin jogged across the snow toward the water. He didn't lose him and he was going to drag his ass out of here and back to his apartment. Even the air was easier to breath, but the closer he came to the streetlamp, a second person came into view. Martin should have felt relieved that Mike was standing next to a beautiful woman, but if it was her